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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

California  State  Library 


t  a 
oks 
ers, 
per- 
|e  Li 
the 

benefit  of  the  Library,  three  times  the  value  thereof; 
and  before  the  Controller  shall  issue  his  warrant  in  favor 
of  uny  member  or  officer  of  the  Legislature,  or  of  this 
State,  for  his  per  diem,  allowance  or  salary,  he  shall  be 
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books  taken  out  of  the  Library  by  him.  and  has  settled 
all  accounts  for  injuring  such  books  or  otherwise. 

SKC.  15.  Books  may  be  taken  from  the  Library  by  the 
members  of  the  Legislature  and  its  officers  during  the 
session  of  the  same,  and  at  any  time  by  the  Governor  ami 
the  officers  of  the  Executive  Department  of  this  State, 
who  are  required  to  keep  their  offices  at  the  seat  of 
goverment,  the  Justices  of  the  Supreme  Court,  the  At 
torney-General  and  the  Trustees  of  the  Library 


ALDEAJST 


A  NOVEL. 


BY    LAUEA    PEESTON 

AUTHOR   OF  "IN    IIOND8,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK: 
A   ROMAN    &    COMPANY,   PUBLISHERS. 

SAN  FRANCISCO: 

417   AND   419   MONTGOMERY   ST. 

1868. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  18C8.  by 

A.   EOMAN  &  CO., 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  oi  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  pAGE 

I.  MRS.  NEVINS  DECLARES  HER  POWER *  ...  5 

II.  COUNTERPLOTS , 14 

III.  ARTHUR'S  EARLY  CAUTION 20 

IV.  NEW  FACES  AND  NEW  FRIENDS 27 

V.  SMALL  CHANGES  AND  ONE  GREAT  CHANGE 34 

VI.  WHAT  ARTHUR'S  CAUTION  AVAILED 43 

VII.  ALDEANE  TAKES  A  JOURNEY  AND  FINDS  A  HOME 49 

VIII.  A  SLIGHT  MYSTERY GO 

IX.  GRASSMERE 68 

X.  "  JANUARY  AND  MAY  " 80 

XI.  AN  UNEXPECTED  ARRIVAL 86 

XII.  A  WAR  OP  WORDS 9G 

XIII.  A  TRUCE  PROCLAIMED 106 

XIV.  ALDEANE  LEARNS  A  SECRET.- 114 

XV.  A  SECOND  SECRET  TOLD 123 

XVI.  DOUBT  BECOMES  CERTAINTY 129 

XVII.  A  MOMENTOUS  INTERVIEW 135 

XVIII.  Two  IMPORTANT  LETTERS 141 

XIX.  THE  "  MERRY  WEDDING  " 150 

XX.  LEONORE'S  STRANGE  LOVER 157 

XXI.  LEONORE'S  LITTLE  SECRET 164 

XXII.  THE  OLD  ARBOR  AT  GRASSMERE 173 

XXIII.  THE  VOICE  IN  THE  STORM 186 

XXIV.  WHAT  THE  WEDDING  MORNING  BROUGHT.  .  195 


CONTENTS, 
. 


CHAP.  PAGE 

XXV.  A  LONG  AND  FATEFUL  TALE 213 

XXVI.  THE  CLOSE  OP  THE  FATEFUL  RECORD 236 

XXVII.  THE  DROOPING  FLOWER 262 

XXVIII.  ALDEANE  RETURNS  TO   THE  NORTH 280 

XXIX.  A  TREASURE  FOUND 289 

XXX.  THE  GOVERNESS  RESUMES  HER  DUTIES 298 

XXXI.  THE  DROOPING  FLOWER  FADES -. 305 

XXXII.  RETRIBUTION  BEGINS 315 

XXXIII.  WILLIAM  ARENDELL'S  NARRATIVE 325 

XXXIV.  IMPORTANT  CORRESPONDENCE 348 

XXXV.  ALDEANE'S  MISSION  AND  ITS  RESULTS 355 

XXXVI.  A  TARDY  EXPLANATION 361 

XXXVII.  FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER  AT  HOME 379 

XXXVIII.  CONCLUSION..  397 


I 


(P*l 

^c— ^A 

-J^lbAPTER   I. 

^P~  • 

MRS.  NEVIXS  DECLARES  HER  POWER. 


THOUGH  the  wind  without  blew  its  shrillest  blast  and 
the  snow  came  ceaselessly,  while  the  bitter  cold  pointed 
each  flake  with  ice  as  it  fell,  the  inmates  of  the  moun 
tain  farm-house  heeded  it  but  little,  so  deeply  were  they 
engrossed  in  their  own  thoughts  and  pursuits.  It  was 
a  wildly-stormy  night,  but  not  more  fierce  were  the  winds 
that  ruled  it  than  the  thoughts  of  some  who  gathered 
in  the  comfortable  sitting-room  around  the  blazing  fire  on 
the  hearth-stone. 

There  are  times  when  the  warring  of  the  elements  seems 
the  signal  for  the  rending  asunder  of  bonds  of  duty,  or 
custom,  and  especially  for  the  deep  bitterness  of  injured 
hearts  to  find  vent  in  passionate  words.  Thus  was  it 
upon  that  tempest-ridden  night  in  which  our  story  opens. 

There  had  been  an  unusually  large  quantity  of  work 
to  do  upon  the  farm  that  day,  and  at  best  an  estate  of 
Massachusetts  acres  is  not  easily  managed.  It  was,  per 
haps,  because  of  that,  and  a  foreboding  of  the  toil  that 
would  come  with  the  snow-clad  morrow,  that  Jonas  Nev- 
ins  wore  upon  his  ever-scowling  brow  a  frown  of  unusual 
severity,  and  sat  moodily  by  the  fire  gazing  into  the 
glowing  coals. 


6  ALDEANE. 

He  was  not  at  any  time  a  pleasant  man  to  look  at ; 
there  were  too  many  harsh  and  cruel  lines  upon  his  sal 
low  countenance ;  his  small  gray  eyes  often  flashed  too 
fiercely  beneath  his  heavy  brows ;  and,  above  all,  his  nerv 
ous  lips  were  too  deeply  sinister  in  their  ever-changing 
curves.  But  with  all  this,  he  was  not  an  ugly  man ;  so 
far  as  regular  features,  luxuriant  iron-gray  hair,  and  a 
tall,  well-knit  figure  could  make  him  so,  Jonas  Kevins 
was  a  handsome  man. 

So  thought  his  wife,  a  fair-haired  woman  of  thirty-five, 
who  sat  opposite  to  him,  glancing  at  him  furtively  some 
times,  but  appearing  to  be  almost  totally  engrossed  by 
her  knitting. 

That  night  the  face  of  Mrs.  Kevins  was  one  worthy  of 
more  than  passing  notice.  Not  for  its  beauty — though  it 
was  evident  that  she  had  once  been  beautiful,  though 
care  and  grief  had  long  striven  to  deny  it — but  for  the 
expression  of  determination  that  rested  upon  her  thin  lips 
and  strangely  contrasted  with  the  meekly  drooping  eyes, 
and  the  almost  timid  glances  that  turned  from  them  upon 
the  stern  occupant  of  the  opposite  chair. 

I  have  described  first  the  elder  members  of  this  fireside 
group,  performing  thus  my  easiest  task ;  far  beyond  de 
scription  by  a  few  poor  words  were  those  others — young 
Arthur  Guthrie  and  his  sister  Aldeane. 

Equally  beyond  such  description  were  they,  although 
most  strangely  unlike.  The  boy  was  tall,  dark,  and 
strong  in  appearance,  while  the  girl  was  exceedingly 
fair  and  delicate,  and,  although  but  three  years  younger 
than  her  brother,  presenting  a  strange  contrast  of  child 
ishness  in  comparison.  He  was  then  about  fifteen,  and, 
in  spite  of  a  growth  verging  already  upon  six  feet,  was 
still  but  a  boy  in  appearance.  There  was  much  of  the 
tmcouthness  belonging  to  boyhood  on  his  well-knit  figure, 
and  of  boyish  beauty  in  his  smooth,  dark  face,  shaded  by 
black,  loosely-curling  locks.  His  eyes  were  bent  upon 


ALDEANE.  7 

his  book;  but  when,  at  last,  he  raised  them  for  a  moment 
to  glance  at  his  sister,  they  were  revealed  in  magnificent 
accord  with  the  tropical  beauty  of  his  face.  They  were 
truly  glorious  eyes ;  large,  black,  and  fiery ;  thoroughly 
expressive  of  the  strong,  proud  spirit  of  their  possessor. 
They  were  eyes  that  had  gained  for  Arthur  Guthrie^  the 
implacable  hatred  of  his  step-father,  for  they,  though  his 
tongue  had  been  guarded  well,  had  revealed  the  distrust 
and  scorn  in  which  he  held  him. 

But,  although  Jonas  Kevins  hated  his  step-son,  he  did 
not,  could  not,  hate  the  child  who  sat  by  his  side.  As  I 
have  said  before,  she  was  fair  and  delicate,  and  this,  with 
the  perfect  grace  of  her  figure,  seemed  at  first  her  only 
claim  to  beauty.  Her  eyes  were  indeed  softly  brown  and 
tender,  but  it  was  only  under  the  influence  of  some  strong 
excitement  that  they  became  beautiful.  But  in  her  pen 
sive  moments,  and  they  were  many,  there  stole  over  the 
countenance  of  Aldeane  Guthrie  a  rare  expression  of 
peaceful  hope,  which  irradiated  her  plain  features  with 
an  almost  divine  light,  and,  in  the  heart  of  her  mother, 
gave  her  the  name  of  the  "  Peace  child." 

And  in  that  house  she  was  the  "  Peace  child,"  not  only 
in  name,  but  in  fact.  More  than  once  had  she  uncon 
sciously  quelled  the  evil  passions  of  Jonas  Kevins  and 
the  fiery  temper  of  her  brother ;  but  on  this  night,  in 
blissful  unconsciousness  that  such  influence  was  needed, 
she  bent  over  the  book  from  which  her  brother  was  also 
reading,  his  dark  cheek  almost  touching  hers. 

They  were  evidently  oblivious  of  the  time,  for  they  did 
not  even  glance  up  when  the  clock  struck  nine.  Not  so, 
however,  was  their  step-father,  who  had  for  some  mo 
ments  been  surlily  watching  them,  and  who  then  said, 
roughly : — 

"Are  those  children  to  stay  up  all  night;  are  they 
never  going  to  bed  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is  now  time,"  replied  Mrs.  Nevins,  quietly. 


8  ALDEANE. 

"  Arthur  Aldeane,  did  you  not  hear  how  late  it  is  ?  Are 
your  lessons  ready  for  to-morrow  ?" 

"  All  ready,  mother,"  returned  Arthur,  collecting  his 
books,  and,  for  the  first  time,  observing  the  unusually 
moody  face  of  his  step-father,  while  Aldeane  lighted  the 
bedroom  candles,  and  bade  her  mother  "  Good  night." 

She  murmured  the  words  to  Mr.  Kevins  also,  but  he 
did  not  appear  to  hear  either  her  voice  or  Arthur's,  and, 
trembling  with  cold,  each  hastened  across  the  wide  hall, 
and  up  the  stairs  into  their  own  rooms,  leavivg  their 
mother  to  a  task  which  was  to  decide  their  future. 

But  they  knew  nothing  of  that,  and  were  happily  asleep 
before  one  word  was  spoken  in  the  room  beloAV.  Indeed, 
for  a  full  hour,  Jonas  Nevins  sat  silently  before  the  fire, 
and  his  wife  steadily  knitted  on,  waiting  and  preparing 
her  answer  for  the  wrords  she  felt  certain  he  would  speak. 

And  she  was  not  wrong,  for  when  she  had  grown  al 
most  weary  of  waiting,  he  looked  up,  frowningly,  and 
said : — 

"  Have  you  thought  of  that  matter  I  spoke  to  you  of? 
Have  you  thought  of  what  is  to  be  done  with  that  boy  ? 
for,  by  heavens,  he  shall  not  stay  here  to  madden  me 
with  his  insolent  eyes." 

"  No,  he  shall  not  stay  here,"  she  said  quietly,  "  but  we 
will  not  speak  of  him  first ;  we  will  speak  of  my  daughter." 

"  Your  daughter !"  he  said  with  a  sneer. 

Mrs.  Kevins  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face  and  said  firmly. 
"  Her  daughter  then.  The  daughter  of  my  sister,  whose 
heart  you  broke." 

She  saw  him  turn  deadly  pale,  but  over  his  well-trained 
countenance  passed  neither  an  expression  of  terror  or  sur 
prise,  and  presently  he  laughed  as  he  said  : — 

"  I  suspected  that  before.  I  thought  that  boy  and  girl 
could  not  be  the  children  of  one  mother.  But  how  can 
she  be  the  child  of  your  sister,  whose  heart  I  broke  ? 
Where  did  I  ever  see  vour  sister  ?" 


ALDEANE.  9 

"  In  her  home,"  she  answered  firmly,  though  there  was 
something  in  his  look  which  caused  her  heart  to  beat  wildly. 
"  You  knew  her  in  North  Carolina,  where  she  died." 

"  How  many  times  more  shall  you  tell  me  the  woman 
is  dead  ?"  he  asked.  "  But  how  was  I  to  see  your  sister 
in  a  place  where  I  never  was  ?" 

"  But  where  was ?"  She  arose  and  whispered 

a  word  in  his  ear, 

The  utterance  had  evidently  shocked  him  fearfully, 
though  he  still  strove  to  hide  it  from  her. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  said  with  a  forced  laugh ; 
"  what  are  you  prating  and  whispering  about  ?" 

"The  truth,"  she  said,  as  quietly  and  firmly  as  ever. 
"  It  is  useless  for  you  to  deny  your  identity  or  your 
guilt.  I  have  proof,  overwhelming  proof,  of  both." 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  she  saw  him  give  one  sign  of 
fear.  "Proof!  proof!"  he  gasped,  "there  can  be  no  sign 
of  proof !"  and  then  he  cursed  himself,  his  folly,  and  her. 

"  I  have  the  proof,"  she  reiterated  slowly.  "  I  have 
proof  enough  here  to  award  you  a  punishment  a  thou 
sand  times  more  severe  than  you  drew  upon  that  innocent 
man  twelve  years  ago.  A  thousand  times  more  severe 
than  the  law  could  ever  levy  on  him." 

He  sprang  up  furiously,  and  threw  his  hand  heavily 
upon  her  shoulder. 

"  Let  me  see  what  you  have,"  he  cried,  with  a  horrible 
oath.  "  Give  it  to  me,  or  I  will  kill  you  to  get  it." 

"  You  could  not  wrest  it  from  me  by  killing  me,"  she 
answered,  as  unmoved  as  ever.  "  My  death  would  be  the 
signal  for  the  mine  to  explode  beneath  you." 

"  I  have  a  mirid  to  risk  that,"  he  muttered,  releasing 
her  then,  however,  and  catching  up  a  paper  she  threw 
upon  the  table. 

It  was  not  long  nor  closely  written,  but  in  the  few 
moments  it  took  him  to  become  master  of  its  contents, 
Jonas  Xevins,  outwardly,  at  least,  became  a  changed  man.. 
1* 


10  ALDEANE. 

He  beat  his  brow  with  his  open  palm,  and  groaned  in  an 
agony  of  fear,  then  suddenly  he  turned  to  his  wife,  and 
besought  her  not  to  ruin  him,  to  believe  him  penitent,  to 
spare  him,  for  God's  sake  to  spare  him. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  she  lost  her  calmness.  Then  she 
broke  into  bitter  invectives  and  terrible  threats,  and  still 
the  miserable  man  bent  down  before  her  and  prayed  her 
to  spare  him. 

It  was  some  time  before  she  would  answer  a  word  to 
that.  "  You  are  in  my  power,"  she  said.  "  I  can  crush 
you  with  a  wave  of  my  hand.  Living  or  dead  you  are  in 
my  power.  Where  do  you  think  are  the  originals  of  those 
papers  I  have  copied  for  you  ?" 

"  With — with  him,  perhaps,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  she  returned,  incautiously,  "  I  would  to  God 
they  were,  that  I  could  find  him  anywhere  upon  the  earth, 
to  give  them  to  him.  But  they  are  safe." 

"  But  you  can.  have  no  object  in  using  them  against 
me  !"  he  exclaimed  eagerly.  "  Your  only  object  would 
be  to  clear  his  name,  if  he  were  living  to  need  it.  But 
think,  think  at  what  a  price  you  would  do  it  now." 

"  The  price  is  nothing,"  she  said,  "  the  gain  ia  every 
thing." 

"  For  that  child,"  he  said. 

"  For  that  child,"  she  answered  him. 

I  have  said  that  Jonas  Nevins  was  in  form  and  feature 
a  handsome  man,  but  I  have  not  before  said  what  power 
of  expression  those  features  held ;  that  night  his  face  had 
been  almost  demoniacal  in  its  hate  and  rage,  but  after 
these  words  it  softened  into  almost  heavenly  tenderness. 

"  Ah,  the  child !  the  child !"  he  said,  '"'  if  you  could  but 
prove  your  words,  the  gain  would,  indeed,  be  great  for 
her ;  but  you  can  not,  you  know." 

She  did  know  it.  She  had  ever  known  that  the  proofs 
she  held  were  not  so  complete  as  she  had  said.  They  might 
convict  him,  but  there  was  great  clanger  they  would  not. 


ALDEANE.  11 

She  knew  this,  and  he  had  grown  cool  enough  to  know  it 
too. 

"  No,"  he  continued  coolly,  "  there  is  not  proof  enough 
here  to  justify  any  jury  in  returning  a  verdict  against 
me,  but  there  is  enough  to  prejudice  an  ignorant  commu 
nity,  and  still  not  enough  to  give  that  child  her  rights." 

His  wife  was  almost  stunned  by  this  sudden  exhibition 
of  calmness,  but  she  was  determined  not  be  baffled  by  it. 

"  That  proof  would  do  more  than  you  will  admit,"  she 
said ;  "  but  as  he  can  not  be  found,  I  have  no  wish  to  use 
it  against  you,  if  you  will  do  your  duty  by  his  child,  and 
by  mine." 

"  By  yours,"  he  cried  passionately,  "  I  will  do  nothing 
for  him.  I  hate  him.  Take  what  you  like  for  her,  but 
nothing  for  him.  Not  one  cent,  not  one  crust  of  bread 
for  him." 

"  You  have  all  that  once  was  mine,"  she  said.  "  You 
have  all  save  the  pitiful  sum  I  would  not  take  from  him. 
That  shall  not  be  used.  You  shall  buy  my  silence.  You 
shall  educate  my  son." 

Oh  !  with  what  hate  he  looked  at  her,  and  at  the  papers 
he  held.  "  There  is  enough  here  to  ruin,  if  not  to  con 
vict  me,"  he  thought,  and  then  he  told  her  she  should 
have  what  she  wished,  that  he  would  educate,  and  clothe 
and  feed  her  son.  "  And  may  his  learning  be  his  curse," 
he  said  passionately.  "  May  his  clothing  make  him  a 
leper,  and  the  food  poison  him." 

Mrs.  Kevins  smiled  derisively.  "  You  must  give  me  a 
bond,"  she  said.  "  I  will  not  take  your  simple  word." 

"  I  will  sign  no  bond,  that  would  be  equal  to  a  confes 
sion,"  he  answered ;  "  and  you  shall  hold  no  such  weapon 
as  that  against  me,  woman." 

But  she  was  inexorable  and  conquered.  He  read  the 
bond  she  placed  before  him,  and  would  have  signed  but 
she  stayed  his  hand.  "  The  witnesses,"  she  said,  "  the 
witnesses.  We  must  have  witnesses  to  this." 


12  ALDEANE. 

She  called  in  two  servants  who  were  passing  through 
the  hall  to  their  rooms.  They  wonderingly  saw  the 
master  sign  his  name,  and  then  affixed  their  own  to  the 
document,  of  which  Mrs.  Nevins  immediately  took  posses 
sion. 

1  "  And  now,  '  good-night,' "  she  said,  when  they  were 
gone,  "  and  remember  whether  I  live,  or  die,  you  are  in 
my  power.  I  shall  send  my  children  away  next  week. 
Attempt  to  injure  them,  and  forgetful  of  all  save  the  dis 
grace  of  that  innocent  man,  and  my  sister's  wrongs,  I  will 
set  the  hand  of  the  law  upon  you,  and  you  shall  be  known 
for  the  villain  you  are." 

In  another  moment  he  was  alone. 

The  very  air  seemed  full  of  horrors.  He  could  not  for 
some  moments  move  from  the  spot  in  which  she  had  left 
him.  His  face  lost  the  last  trace  of  defiance,  and  became 
ghastly  white.  He  sank  into  a  chair  at  last,  and  cowered 
over  the  fire,  that  sunk  first  into  a  mass  of  glowing 
embers,  and  then  whitened  into  cold  ashes.  Yet  still  he 
sat  there.  The  rats  played  noisily  around  the  wainscot 
ing,  and  the  mice  nibbled  industriously  in  the  closet,  but 
he  heeded  them  not.  His  past  life,  of  which  he  seldom 
thought,  and  never  without  the  utmost  horror,  was  stand 
ing  before  him,  all  its  days  blackened  by  a  crime,  which 
had  blotted  out  one  young  life,  that  he  had  loved  as  man 
never  loves  but  once.  In  his  heart  there  had  been  one 
green  spot,  but  the  hand  of  Cain  had  seared  it.  Love 
enters  once  into  the  heart  of  every  man.  It  had  crept 
into  that  of  Jonas  Nevins,  and  by  its  unblessed  ardor 
had  cursed  it  forever.  All  those  things  arose  before  him, 
as  he  sat  regardless  of  the  cold,  with  which  he  shivered, 
or  of  the  time,  that  on  the  sable  wings  of  night  was 
hastening  to  open  the  golden  gates  of  morning. 

At  last  he  muttered,  almost  inarticulately,  "  Good  God, 
that  she  should  know  it !  What  a  fool  I  have  been  never 
to  have  destroyed  those  cursed  letters !  They  have 


ALDEANE.  13 

ruined  me ;  it  must  have  been  fatality !  But  I  will 
destroy  them  to-night,  before  I  sleep  !"  and  seizing  the 
candle  he  passed  into  the  hall  and  was  soon  groping  his 
way  up  the  garret  stairs.  The  wind  blew  out  the  candle, 
and  shivering  with  cold  and  superstitious  fear,  he  returned 
to  light  it,  but  found  not  one  live  ember.  At  last  a 
light  was  procured,  and  he  again  ascended  the  stairs. 
The  garret  was  a  large  open  place,  and  the  candle  could 
cast  but  a  flickering  light  over  its  gloom.  A  rat  ran 
over  his  feet  as  he  entered.  The  place,  to  his  heated 
imagination,  seemed  peopled  with  horrible  demons,  and 
he  shuddered  as  he  heard  his  footsteps  break  the  still 
ness. 

He  hurried  to  a  corner  of  the  room,  and  nearly 
stumbled  over  some  dark  object.  He  stooped  to  examine 
it.  It  was  a  small  iron  box,  the  lock  was  broken,  the 
contents  were  gone,  save  a  little  strip  of  paper.  He  held 
the  candle  up  before  it,  and  with  half-frenzied  brain  saw 
written,  in  a  hand  that  he  had  well  known  in  by-gone 
years,  and  which  he  had  hoped  never  to  see  again,  the 
sentence  :  "  Retribution  is  hastening  upon  thee." 

"  O  God  !"  gasped  Kevins,  "  What  can  this  mean  !" 
and,  sitting  down  on  an  old  trunk,  he  gave  way  to  the 
deepest  emotions  of  horror  and  fear.  At  last  he  arose 
and  began  to  search  in  all  the  corners  and  crevices  of  the 
room  for  the  missing  papers,  but  all  in  vain.  His  candle 
flickered  in  the  socket,  and  he  was  obliged  to  desist. 

The  box  was  there — but  the  papers,  the  proofs  of  his 
guilt,  were  gone. 


CHAPTER    II. 

COUNTERPLOTS. 

ABOUT  fifteen  miles  south  of  the  mountain  farm-house, 
and  at  nearly  the  same  distance  from  Boston,  stood  a 
handsome  residence,  well  known  in  the  vicinity  as  Rose 
Cottage,  and  although  in  the  winter  season  it  appeared 
to  have  no  claim  to  the  name,  as  early  as  the  month  of 
June  until  late  in  the  autumn,  it  became  most  appro 
priate. 

But  even  when  devoid  of  its  summer  garniture  Rose 
Cottage  was  a  handsome  building,  its  walls  of  gray  stone, 
ornamented  with  fanciful  windows  and  piazzas,  and  sur-- 
mounted  by  small  turrets,  rose  grandly  above  the  snow, 
appearing  to  offer  shelter  and  comfort  from  the  cold  and 
storm  without.  Even  the  grounds  presented  none  of  the 
desolation  common  to  most  gardens  during  the  winter  of 
a  northern  clime.  There  were  few  straggling  shrubs  to 
bestrew  the  snow  with  dry,  crisp  branches  and  unsightly 
stalks,  but  rich,  ever-verdant  hedges  of  holly,  bestrewn 
with  their  scarlet  berries,  encircled  the  dwelling  and  its 
appurtenances  from  the  desolate  waste  of  snowy  fields 
without,  and  stately  cedars  guarded  it  from  the  shrill 
winds  and  induced  hundreds  of  tiny,  busy  winter  birds  to 
trill  their  soft  notes  within  their  branches,  and  to  keep 
around  Rose  Cottage  one  ceaseless  reminder  of  the  by 
gone  summer. 

Some  three  weeks  after  the  memorable  night  on  which 
Mrs.  Kevins  had  declared  to  her  husband  her  power,  a 
gentleman  walked  thoughtfully  up  and  down  one  of  the 


ALDEANE:  15 

most  pleasant  of  all  the  pleasant  rooms  of  Rose  Cottage. 
It  was  known  as  "  Mr.  Ashton's  room  "  and  was  neither 
parlor,  smoking-room,  nor  library,  but  partook  of  the 
character  of  all,  for  there  were  elegant  articles  of  furni 
ture  on  every  hand,  cases  of  books  between  the  windows, 
and  smoking  materials  on  every  table.  Besides  which 
there  were  pictures  on  the  walls,  guns  in  every  corner, 
and  numberless  indescribable  articles  on  every  hand. 
At  first  sight,  one  would  have  declared  it  the  lounging 
apartment  of  a  wealthy  bachelor,  but  its  possessor  was 
in  fact  a  widower,  having  but  little  to  remind  him  of  his 
one  short  year  of  wedded  life  except  a  daughter,  the 
portrait  of  whom  hung  over  the  mantel  and  seemed  to 
watch  him  with  its  laughing  blue  eyes  as  he  walked 
slowly  to  and  fro. 

Most  naturally  this  daughter  was  the  darling  and 
pride  of  his  heart,  and  often  he  paused  and  glanced 
fondly  at  the  portrait.  It  bore  a  striking  though 
softened  likeness  to  himself.  The  large  blue  eyes  were 
identical  in  color  and  expression,  the  long  flowing  curls 
of  the  child  were  of  the  same  golden-brown  hue  as  his 
own  luxuriant  hair,  the  well-defined  features  were  soft 
ened  models  of  his  own,  but  the  tiny  rose-bud  mouth 
was  a  beauty  peculiar  to  the  face  of  the  child,  the  beauty 
that  with  her  voice  and  smile  she  had  inherited  from 
her  dead  mother. 

While  Mr.  Ashton  was  still  pursuing  his  thoughtful 
walk,  a  light  tap  sounded  on  the  door  of  the  apartment, 
and  an  old  woman,  evidently  the  housekeeper,  obeyed  his 
summons  to  enter. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  disturb  you,  sir,"  she  said,  "  but  there's 
a  man  here  that  wants  to  see  you." 

"  Show  him  in,"  answered  Mr.  Ashton,  who  made  it  a 
rule  to  see  every  one  that  asked  for  him,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  a  tall,  rough-looking  man  entered,  and  bow 
ing  to  Mr.  Ashton  said,  "  I  have  come  at  last,  sir." 


16  ALDEANE. 

"  Why,  Foley  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Ashton.  "  What  have 
you  done  to  yourself?  Shut  the  door  and  sit  down  by 
the  fire  ;  it's  a  bitter  cold  day." 

The  man  did  as  directed,  looking  sharply  around  him 
like  one  accustomed  to  observe  every  thing. 

"And  now,"  said  Mr.  Ashton,  "what  have  you  got 
for  me  ?" 

"It  may  be  much,  or  it  may  be  nothing,"  replied  the 
man  doubtfully  * "  but  she  seemed  to  think  'em  a  good 
deal." 

"  She !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Ashton,  "  Whom  do  you 
mean  ?" 

"  She  as  found  'em  after  I  had  been  peerin'  and  pryin' 
through  that  house  for  more  'n  three  months.  Just  my 
luck  to  watch  him  and  watch  him  and  gain  nothin',  while 
she,  who  suspected  nothin',  stumbled  right  on  the  whole 
proof  at  once." 

"  Who  stumbled  upon  it  ?  Speak  more  plainly,  man  !" 
interrupted  Mr.  Ashton  impatiently. 

"  Why,  his  wife,  sir !  his  wife.  She  went  up  to  the 
garret  one  day,  and  by  accident  like  I  happened  to  go  up 
the  stairs  and  stand  by  the  door.  There  wasn't  any 
thing  happened  •  for  a  while,  and  then  all  at  once,  when 
she  was  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  place,  I  heard  her  cry  out 
sharp  and  low,  like  one  surprised  and  horrified,  and  then 
I  saw  her  lift  a  little  box,  and  rush  to  a  window  with  it, 
and  then  she  cried  out  again  and  said, — 

" '  My  God !  this  was  his.' " 

"  And  then  for  a  long  time  she  just  stood  still  and  looked 
at  it,  and  then  in  a  frantic  way  she  tried  to  break  it  open 
but  it  was  iron  and  would  not  yield.  But  she  thought  her 
self  alone  in  the  house  and  cared  for  nothing.  She  took 
up  a  bar  of  iron  that  lay  there,  and  I  swear  to  you,  sir,  I 
couldn't  have  done  it  myself,  she  wrenched  open  the  lid 
with  such  force  that  the  contents  flew  far  and  wide." 

"  What  was  in  it  ?"  asked  Mr.  Ashton  breathlesslv. 


ALDEANE.  17 

"  Papers,  sir,  papers !  Nothing  else  as  I  saw.  And 
that  woman,  sir,  crouched  down  by  the  window  and  read 
'em  as  if  she  was  going  mad,  and  called  out,  '  Oh,  my 
sister !  my  poor  murdered  sister,'  in  a  way  just  tit  to  make 
even  a  detective's  heart  break." 

"  What !"  cried  Mr.  Ashton.  "  Is  that  man's  wife  her 
sister.  It  can  not  be,  the  very  stones  would  have  cried 
out  against  the  enormity  of  such  a  marriage." 

"  It  appears  'twas  quite  accidental,"  returned  the  man 
composedly,  as  if  thus  to  account  for  the  silence  of  the 
stones.  "  She  met  him  on  the  road  somewhere.  Prob 
ably  he  didn't  know  her,  any  more  than  she  knew  him, 
and  he  was  kind  to  her  sick  child.  She  was  a  good- 
looking  woman,  with  the  signs  of  money  about  her  you 
see — and  he  was  a  deceivin'  villain,  and  so  she  married 
him." 

"  Poor  woman !  poor  woman !"  ejaculated  Mr.  Ashton. 

"  And  you  may  well  say  that,"  said  the  detective,  in 
his  passionless  voice.  "  A  poor  woman  she  is  in  more 
ways  than  one,  robbed  of  her  money,  health,  and  peace. 
But  though  those  letters  seemed  to  break  her  right  down 
when  she  read  'em  first,  they  gave  her  the  upper  hand  of 
him.  She  put  'em  all  back  but  one.  I've  got  'em  here. 
But  that  one  mastered  him  I'm  safe  to  say,  for  the  next 
night  I  was  called  in  to  witness  some  bond  between  'em — 
I'd  just  got  those  letters  safe  into  my  pocket  with  a  string 
tied  round  'em — and  the  next  week  her  two  children  was 
sent  off  to  school.  He'd  bought  her  silence,  you  see." 

"  That  relieves  my  mind  of  a  heavy  weight,"  said  Mr. 
Ashton.  "  'Twould  never  do  for  the  matter  to  be  brought 
forward  now.  But  where  are  those  letters." 

The  detective  took  from  his  pocket  a  small  parcel  and 
handed  it  to  .Mr.  Ashton.  He  opened  it  hastily,  and  took 
out  four  short  notes  which  he  read  attentively. 

"  These  prove  something,"  he  said,  "  but  not  much. 
Not  much.  She  hns  the' missing'  link  in  the  chain  of 


18  ALDEANE. 

evidence,  the  only  one  of  much  importance.  We  must 
have  it.  I  will  go  to  her." 

But  the  detective  interposed  in  his  ever-quiet  voice. 
-"  Mrs.  Nevins  wouldn't  turn  traitor  to  her  husband,  sir, 
until  he  does  to  her.  And  you  wouldn't  want  to  ruin  an 
innocent  woman  by  inplicatin'  her  in  his  crimes  I  s'pose  ?" 

"  Of  course  not.     But  that  letter  I  must  have." 

"  All  in  good  time,  sir,  when  you're  ready  to  bring  the 
suit  on,  for  instance.  She  isn't  a  woman  to  be  terrified 
out  of  it,  and  it's  as  safe  with  her,  or  rather  with  Lawyer 
Halcombe,  for  I  traced  her  there  the  next  day,  as  it  would 
be  with  you." 

"  But  I  must  have  it !"  reiterated  Mr.  Ashton. 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  returned  the  detective,  "  but  you'll 
only  make  an  enemy  of  a  friend  by  forcing  that  paper 
from  its  present  possessor,  for  she  looks  upon  it  as  the 
guardian  of  her  children.  If  I  was  a  lawyer,  sir,  I  should 
say  '  bide  your  time,'  but  as  I  am  only  a  detective,  sir, 
I'll  get  the  paper  for  you  if  you  like." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Ashton,  after  a  long  pause,  "  I  see  the 
wisdom  of  your  advice.  The  cause  at  any  rate  must  be 
ours.  It  would  be  ours  even  if  that  paper  was  destroyed. 
You  have  left  the  service  of  Nevins,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  man  with  a  short  laugh, 
"  was  took  uncommon  bad  after  findin'  the  letters,  and 
couldn't  stay.  Good  servant  though.  Go  back  at  any 
time.  Xo  policy  to  quarrel  there  you  know." 

"  Then  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  pay  up  my  arrears," 
said  Mr.  Ashton,  "  and  wish  you  a  better  job  next  time. 
You'll  bear  this  matter  in  mind  though,  and  be  ready 
when  called  upon." 

"  That  I  will,  sir,"  answered  the  detective_£ounting  the 
coin  Mr.  Ashton  laid  before  him,  and  shorny  thereafter 
bowing  himself  out,  to  partake  of  a  lunch  in  the  house 
keeper's  room,  before  setting  out  for  Boston. 

When  left  alone,  Mr.  AsJiton  re-read  again,  and  again, 

J 


ALDEANE.  19 

the  letters  which  had  been  given  him,  and  at  last  laying 
them  in  a  small  iron  box,  placed  them  in  a  safe,  saying  to 
himself,  "  Rest  there  for  a  time,  and  then  we  shall  see,  31  r. 
Xevins  ;  we  shall  see." 

For  a  second  time  on  that  morning  were  his  reflections 
disturbed  by  a  knock  upon  the  door.  He  opened  it,  and 
took  from  the  hand  of  a  servant  a  number  of  letters. 
Glancing  hastily  over  the  address  of  each,  he  broke  the 
seal  of  the  smallest,  fondly  murmuring,  "  My  darling,"  and 
smilingly  perused  the  missive.  But  the  smile  soon  faded 
away  and  a  look  of  eager  attention  succeeded.  "  Most 
remarkable !  really  extraordinary !"  he  muttered  more 
than  once,  and  yet  the  words  which  caused  them  were 
but  few  and  simple. 

"  My  darling  father,  I  have  such  a  delightful  thing  to 
tell  you,"  began  the  second  paragraph  of  his  daughter's 
letter.  "  Mrs.  Grenville  has  given  me  such  a  nice  room 
mate,  and  I  like  her  already  so  much  better  than  I  did 
that  cross  Jennie  Grey  that  was  here  last  year.  And  she 
has  such  a  pretty  name,  Aldeane  Guthrie,  and  though  she 
isn't  so  pretty  as  some  folks,  she  has  such  a  magnificent 
brother,  and  his  name  is  Arthur.  And,  pa,  what  do  you 
think,  Aldeane  lives  only  fifteen  miles  from  our  house,  but 
I  don't  think  she'll  go  home  again  soon,  for  she  has  a  step- 
lather,  and  I  know  he's  hateful.  And  I  know  I  heard 
you  talking  about  him  to  some  man  once,  when  you  were 
angry,  and  sent  me  out  of  the  room  for  going  in  without 
knocking,  and  I  am  very  sorry  I  did  it,  pa,  I  am  sure,  and 
his  name  is  Nevins,  and " 

But  Mr.  Ashton  read  at  that  time  no  farther,  but  gave 
utterance  to  a  variety  of  expressions  of  astonishment. 

"  And  thi^s  as  it  ought  to  be,"  he  said  at  last,  "  and 
I'll  see  these^hildren,  and  befriend  them  too.  What  an 
extraordinary  thing  that  they  should  be  placed  at  that 
school.  There  must  be  a  providence  in  it.  At  auv  rate 
I'll  see  them." 


CHAPTER    III. 

ARTHUR'S  EARLY  CAUTION. 

AND  Mr.  Ashton  kept  his  promise.  He  did  see  those 
children.  Not  immediately,  but  after  Belle  had  written 
enough  of  them  for  him  to  know  them  well,  and  even 
then  he  did  not  yield  to  his  first  inclination  to  make  a 
pretext  for  seeing  them  at  school,  but  when  Rose  Cottage 
was  worthy  of  its  name,  and  the  glorious  summer  had 
made  all  the  surrounding  country  beautiful,  he  had 
written  to  his  daughter  to  bring  them  home  for  the  vaca 
tion.  And  after  some  hesitation,  knowing  that  the  doors 
of  their  own  home  were  virtually  barred  against  them, 
they  had  come,  and  enchanted  Belle  by  their  enjoyment 
and  admiration  of  her  lovely  home,  and  her  father  by 
their  own  charms  of  appearance  and  manner. 

Belle  Ashton  was  right  in  saying  that  her  father  loved 
Aldeane  Guthrie  from  the  first  moment  he  saw  her. 
There  was  something  about  the  child  which  irresistibly 
attracted  him.  It  was  the  same  with  most  people,  but  he 
did  not  know  that,  and  with  wonder  questioned  himself 
as  to  what  it  could  be  in  her  face  or  manner  that  so 
powerfully  influenced  him. 

He  fancied  at  times  that  the  face  and  manner  were  not 
altogether  unfamiliar  to  him,  and  yet  he  was  certain  he 
had  never  seen  the  child  before,  and  at  last  inferred  to  the 
apparent  familiarity,  by  the  real  sympathyoy  which  he 
was  attracted  toward  her  and  which  led  him  to  feel  and 
act  toward  her  as  an  old  and  attached  friend. 

And  this  feeling  was  increased  by  the  knowledge  he 


ALDEANE.  21 

gained  of  her  during  three  vacations  subsequently  spent 
at  his  house,  for  never  once  during  that  period  had  Mrs. 
Kevins  dared  to  have  her  children  home,  and,  except 
upon  rare  visits  to  Boston,  she  never  saw  them. 

I  have  said  never,  but  once,  indeed,  Arthur  ventured 
within  what  was  indeed  to  him  a  lion's  den,  and  that  was 
when,  having  finished  the  course  at  Professor  Grenville's 
he  hesitated  as  to  following  his  mother's  instructions, 
which  were  for  him  to  enter  college  at  once,  for  he  remem 
bered  that  his  paternal  fortune  was  extremely  small,  and 
that  Aldeane  was  altogether  unprovided  for,  and  although 
had  he  been  alone  in  the  world  he  would  not  have 
doubted  for  a  moment  what  course  to  take,  he  thought  it 
now  a  duty  which  he  owed  Aldeane  to  retain  suffi 
cient  property  to  secure  her  from  want,  and  therefore  he 
determined  to  see  his  mother  and  learn  her  reasons  for 
advising  him  to  expend  all,  or  at  least  the  better  part  of 
what  he  possessed,  in  securing  an  education.  True,  up  to 
this  point — and  far  beyond  it — he  had  ambitiously  desired 
to  fit  himself  for  the  practice  of  law,  and  he  knew  his 
mother  held  the  same  views  for  him,  but  prudence 
whispered  that  it  would  be  better  for  Aldeane  to  live  in 
peace,  beholding  her  brother  a  merchant's  clerk,  than  to 
struggle  with  poverty,  while  he  was  endeavoring — vainly, 
perhaps — to  open  a  way  to  fame  and  affluence  through 
long  years  of  penury  and  obscurity. 

This,  in  substance,  he  said  to  Mr.  Ashton  one  even 
ing,  during  the  second  vacation  spent  at  Rose  Cottage, 
and  announced  his  intention  of  going  home  to  ascertain 
the  exact  position  in  which  he  stood.  This  Mr.  Ashton 
highly  approved,  and  offered  him  the  best  horse  in  his 
stables  for  the  journey. 

At  break  of  day  he  was  in  the  saddle,  bearing  a  hope 
ful,  joyous  heart  and  Aldeane's  tearfully  given  love 
toward  his  mother.  The  sun  rose  apace,  and  -threw  the 
scorching  heat  of  August  upon  the  earth,  but  Arthur's 


22  .      ALDEANE. 

road  for  the  most  part  lay  through  the  woods,  and  he 
found  the  ride  delightful,  and  with  the  enthusiasm  of  boy 
hood  thought  of  the  beauty  around  him,  and  of  little  else 
until  familiar  objects  claimed  his  attention  and  assured 
him  that  he  was  drawing  near  home.  There  lay  the 
little  village  of  Hayfield  toward  the  right,  and  conspicu 
ous  among  its  humble  dwellings  arose  the  white-spired 
church  in  which  he  had  so  often  sat  beside  his  mother  and 
sister,  listening  wearily  to  the  prosy  discourses  of  good 
old  Elder  Maynard,  and  there,  a  little  farther  on,  was 
the  tall  finger-post,  pointing  spectrally  toward  Boston, 
and  the  village  behind,  and  lastly  arose  in  the  distance  the 
tall  chimneys  and  the  gabled  roof  of  the  house  he  had  for 
ten  years  called  his  home. 

He  did  not  remember,  then,  how  little  of  a  home  it  had 
been  to  him,  or  how  the  childhood  which  might  have 
passed  joyously  within  it  had  been  made  a  period  of 
constant  terror  and  gloom,  nor  did  he  think  of  him  who 
had  occasioned  this,  but  with  the  word  Mother  upon  his 
lips,  as  it  was  within  his  heart,  rushed  into  the  hot 
kitchen  in  which,  through  an  open  window,  he  had  seen 
his  mother  toiling. 

Poor  soul,  how  overjoyed  she  was  !  how  she  embraced 
him  and  wept  over  him !  This  was  the  one  sole  drop  of 
joy  that  had  sweetened  her  bitter  cup  for  months,  yet 
even  as  she  tasted  it  she  looked  around  with  sudden 
terror  that  it  would  be  dashed  from  her  lips. 

Arthur  noticed  it  with  a  pang  at  his  heart  that  showed 
its  presence  in  his  face,  but  he  would  not  speak  of  it. 
The  time  was  not  yet  come  to  dwell  upon  sorrow,  for  his 
mother,  in  a  low  voice,  was  rapturously  exclaiming,  how 
tall  he  had  grown,  and  how  handsome,  and  how  good, 
too,  she  was  sure.  And  then,  with  sudden  fear,  she 
asked  for  Aldeane.  Was  she  ill,  or  what  had  brought 
him  here  ? 

Arthur  answered    smilingly  that  Aldeane  was  quite 


ALDEANE.  23 

well,  and  becoming  such  a  scholar,  and  was  so  much 
loved.  Why,  he  believed  that  it  would  break  even  the 
strong  heart  of  Professor  Grenville  if  she  should  speak  of 
leaving  him,  and  then  he  added  more  gravely, "  But  I  came 
here  on  especial  business,  mother.  Is  Mr.  Nevins  in  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  her  color  coming  and  going 
painfully.  "  Upon  almost  any  other  day,  darling,  I  would 
have  had  you  all  to  myself,  for  he  seldom  is  at  home 
now." 

"  Who  takes  care  of  the  farm,  then  ?"  was  Arthur's 
natural  question. 

"  Oh,  you  know,"  answered  his  mother,  with  a  little  flash 
of  pride,  which,  to  one,  knowing  her  history  and  that  of 
the  man  of  whom  she  spoke,  was  most  curious  to  behold, 
"  Jonas  Nevins  was  always  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to 
care  for  the  details  of  a  farmer's  life,  but  he  is  a  very 
excellent  business  man." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  that,"  returned  Arthur,  with  satisfac 
tion,  for  he  hoped  from  his  mother's  tones  that  a  better 
feeling  subsisted  between  her  and  her  husband  than  for 
merly.  But  she  divined  this,  and  quickly  undeceived  him. 

"  He  certainly  is  doing  well  by  the  property  I  was  fool 
ish  enough  to  intrust  to  him,"  she  said,  "  but  I  doubt,  my 
love,  whether  it  will  ever  do  us  any  good." 

"I  should  not  think  he  would  acquire  much  wealth 
from  a  rugged  farm  like  this,"  said  Arthur. 

"  Oh  dear,  no  ;  but  he  sold  a  part  of  it  just  as  you  went 
to  school,  and  drew  that  money  I  had  invested  in  Dur- 
kin's  firm  just  before  our  marriage,  and  entered  into 
speculations,  in  which  he  is  still  engaged,  and  which  have 
proved  exceedingly  remunerative." 

"  That  is  fortunate,  mother ;  but  now  about  my  own 
affairs,"  and  he  repeated  at  some  length  what  he  had 
already  said  to  Mr.  Ashton,  concluding,  "And  now, 
mother,  you  have  told  me  often,  that  by  my  father's  will 
I  was  left  five  thousand  dollars,  to  be  given  into  niy 


24  ALDEANE. 

hands  when  I  arrived  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  and  that 
meanwhile  I  was  to  be  educated  and  supported  from  the 
other  share  of  the  property." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  my  son,"  she  answered. 

"Does  Mr.  Nevins  understand  this?"  asked  Artlmr, 
looking  intently  at  his  mother.  "  And  does  he  under 
stand  that  this  same  matter  of  support  applies  to  Aldeane, 
although  she  was  not  mentioned  in  my  father's  will  ?" 

"  She  was  not  born  until  some  months  after  his  death," 
faltered  Mrs.  Nevins. 

"  Of  course,  mother,  I  know  that ;  but  does  Mr.  Nev 
ins  understand  what  he  is  boiind  to  do  for  me,  and  ex 
pected  to  do  for  her  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Nevins,  firmly,  though  her  face  was 
very  pale ;  "  he  understands  all,  perfectly,  and  he  is 
pledged  to  fulfill  his  duty.  He  is  pledged,  I  say,"  she 
repeated,  with  excitement,  "  and  if  I  were  to  die  to-day, 
you  and  Allie  will  be  safe." 

"  How,  mother  ?" 

She  looked  around  her  furtively,  and  drew  closer  to 
him.  "  He  is  in  my  power,"  she  whispered  eagerly. 
"  Dead  or  alive  he  dares  not  deceive  me.  I  have  that 
written  by  his  own  hand  that  would  arise  to  condemn 
him.  Hush !" 

She  turned  suddenly  away  from  him,  leaving  him  pale 
and  startled.  The  cause  of  her  warning  was  soon  ap 
parent — a  man's  step  was  heard  upon  the  porch. 

Arthur  knew  it  was  Mr.  Nevins's ;  he  had  trembled  too 
often  upon  hearing  it  not  to  remember  it  well.  "  I  will 
go  and  speak  to  him,"  he  whispered  to  his  mother,  and 
left  the  kitchen. 

Mr.  Nevins  was  prepared  to  see  him.  Arthur  saw  that 
at  once,  but  was  somewhat  surprised  to  see  that  this  prep 
aration  had  not  angered,  but  had  rather  softened  him. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?"  he  said,  in  his  old  ungracious  man 
ner,  though  his  dress  at  least  was  far  more  like  that  of  a 


ALDEANE.  25 

gentleman  than  Arthur  had  usually  beheld  it.  "  I  was 
not  aware  that  your  mother  was  expecting  you,"  and  he 
cast  a  glance  the  reverse  of  pleasant  in  the  direction  of 
the  kitchen. 

"  She  did  not  expect  me,"  returned  Arthur,  extending 
his  hand,  which  was  coolly  accepted.  "I  came  quite 
unexpected  by  her,  to  see  you  perhaps  more  particularly 
than  herself." 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Kevins,  looking  at  him  rather  curi 
ously. 

Mi's.  Kevins  came  to  the  door,  and  looked  at  him 
from  behind  her  son  with  a  glance  which  he  seemed 
perfectly  to  understand,  and  which  he  was  powerless  to 
avoid. 

"  Ah !"  he  repeated  once  more. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Arthur.  "  Of  course  I  need  not  remind 
you  of  the  terms  of  my  father's  will,  and  that  they  ap 
plied  as  well  to  his  unborn  child  as  to  myself." 

"  Ah !"  repeated  Mr.  Kevins  in  a  strange  voice,  glan 
cing  curiously  at  his  wife. 

"  Now,  sir,"  continued  Arthur,  respectfully,  "  I  ask  you 
if  you  intend,  of  your  own  free  will,  to  carry  out  the 
terms  of  that  will  ?" 

"  Your  mother  tells  me,"  answered  Kevins,  with  quiet 
sarcasm,  "  that  you  are  to  be  a  lawyer ;  if  so,  you  should 
by  this  time  be  lawyer  enough  to  know  that  you  can  com 
pel  me  to  observe  the  terms  of  that  will" 

"That  is  not  to  the  point,"  returned  Arthur,  quietly; 
"  and  even  if  it  were,  you  may  readily  suppose  I  would  not 
waste  my  little  patrimony  in  litigation.  Now  being,  sir, 
by  your  words,  obliged  to  refer  to  the  unhappiness  which 
has  existed  between  yourself  and  my  mother,  I  ask  you 
if,  through  it  all,  your  honor  leads  you  to  do  this  act  of 
justice  to  her  children,  which  is  their  right,  but  would 
be  esteemed  by  them  a  favor  ?" 

Kevins  looked  at  him  for  some  moments  with  motions 


26  ALDEANE. 

upon  his  face  which  even  the  quick  eye  of  his  questioner 
could  not  clearly  read. 

"  You  have  a  bold  face  and  a  ready  tongue,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  You  will  make  a  good  lawyer  ;  and  as  I  have 
told  your  mother  before,  I  am  perfectly  willing  you  should 
become  one.  Your  bills,  and  Aldeane's,  will  be  duly 
honored." 

He  looked  at  his  wife,  and  bit  his  lips  till  the  blood 
started.  "  I  am  going  to  Boston,"  he  said  suddenly,  in 
the  midst  of  Arthur's  acknowledgments,  and,  without  a 
word  more,  or  even  a  nod  of  his  head,  he  descended  the 
steps  and  walked  to  the  stables. 

Presently  they  saw  him  gallop  down  the  road. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  have  you  to  myself!"  said  Mrs.  Nev- 
ins  fondly,  leading  her  son  into  the  sitting-room.  "  You 
will  stay  here  to-night,  darling,  and  sleep  in  your  old 
chamber." 

"  Yes,"  said  Arthur,  thoughtfully ;  for  though  his  in 
terview  with  his  step-father  had  terminated  much  more 
agreeably  than  he  had  dared  hope  it  would,  he  still  had 
the  painful  consciousness  that  Mr.  Kevins  had  consented 
to  do  his  duty  under  compulsion,  and  not  of  his  free  will ; 
and  more  than  once  that  afternoon  he  spoke  of  rejecting 
his  aid  altogether,  and  of  taking  his  chances  in  the  world 
with  no  further  preparation  than  he  then  possessed. 

Biit  his  mother  actually  shed  tears  when  he  spoke  of 
this,  and,  before  he  parted  from  her  upon  the  following 
morning,  made  him  promise  that  he  would  abandon  the 
wild  idea. 

And  upon  his  return  to  Mr.  Ashton,  that  clear-headed 
man  of  business  echoed  his  mother's  advice,  and  a  month 
later  Arthur  Guthrie  entered  college. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

NEW   FACES   AXD   NEW   FKIENDS. 

AFTER  the  slight  break  in  the  monotony  of  Arthur 
Guthrie's  life,  it  glided  on  for  three  years  quite  as  tran 
quilly  as  that  of  his  sister  Aldeane.  Both,  in  their  differ 
ent  ways  and  different  places,  were  students  who  under 
stood  all  the  importance  of  the  tasks  set  before  them, 
and  encountered  all  difficulties  with  a  will  to  conquer 
them,  and  thus  when  Aldeane  Guthrie,  at  the  age  of  six 
teen,  carried  with  her  to  Rose  Cottage,  the  diploma  she 
had  won,  she  was  perhaps  the  most  finished  scholar  that 
ever  was  graduated  from  the  Greenville  Academy.  Not 
even  then,  that  she  was  a  prodigy  of  learning,  or  was 
possessed  of  a  vast  number  of  accomplishments,  but  the 
good  professor  remarked  of  her,  with  a  pride  he  coiild 
feel  in  but  few  of  his  pupils,  that  what  she  knew  at  all, 
she  knew  thoroughly  and  certainly,  and  was  so  much 
impressed  with  this,  that  knowing  something  of  her  do 
mestic  life,  he  offered  her  a  situation  as  junior  teacher  in 
the  academy  in  which  she  had  been  so  long  a  pupil.  And 
with  the  intention  of  accepting  this  unexpected  favor,  she 
returned  after  her  school-days  to  spend  another  vacation 
at  the  home  of  her  still  dear  friend,  Belle  Ashton. 

The  latter  had  grown  more  beautiful  with  every  year, 
and,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  presented  a  striking  contrast 
to  her  more  humble  companion.  She  was  above  the  av 
erage  height,  and  of  full  and  commanding  figure,  upon 
which  her  own  taste,  and  the  wealth  of  her  father,  enabled 
her  to  display  rich  and  elegant  costumes,  which,  as  well 


28  ALDEANE. 

as  the  blonde  beauty  of  her  face,  seemed  to  separate  her 
completely  from  the  plainly  dressed  figure  which  was 
generally  to  be  found  at  her  side.  Yet  in  this  figure,  and 
the  face  belonging  to  it,  there  was  a  certain  beauty,  such 
as  had  marked  her  childhood — a  beauty  not  sa  showy, 
observers  remarked,  but  which  would  certainly  prove 
more  lasting  than  that  of  the  belle  and  heiress,  Miss 
Ashton. 

They  said  of  the  latter,  too,  that  she  was  a  good- 
natured,  handsome  girl,  but  that  for  a  half  hour's  sensible 
chat  her  little  friend  was  infinitely  to  be  preferred,  and 
that  if  one  would  hear  a  sonata  well  played,  or  a  song 
well  sung,  Miss  Aldeane  Guthrie  would  certainly  do  both 
for  you  if  asked  in  a  secluded  room,  where  her  touch  and 
her  voice  were  in  no  danger  of  being  destroyed  by  the 
gaze  and  the  comments  of  an  admiring  throng. 

So  those  two  friends,  so  different  yet  so  loving,  had 
each  her  certain  reputation  among  their  schoolmates  and 
friends,  and  especially  among  the  few  young  people  who 
had  shared  and  brightened  their  holiday  times. 

Chief  among  these  had  been  a  young  gentleman  named 
Morgan,  the  only  son  of  a  neighbor  of  Mr.  Ashton's,  who 
had  not  only  been  a  friend  and  playmate  of  Belle  from 
her  babyhood,  but  Arthur's  friend  during  his  term  at 
college.  Having  graduated  the  year  before,  and  since 
that  pursued  the  study  of  medicine,  he  was  about  to  de 
part  for  Europe,  partly  to  continue  his  studies  at  the 
different  capitals  there,  and  partly  to  make  the  grand 
tour  for  his  especial  pleasure. 

Rather  unfortunately  for  any  scheme  of  professional 
improvement  that  might  have  been  in  the  mind  of  Fred 
eric  Morgan,  his  proposed  companion  was  devoted, 
wholly  and  confessedly,  to  pleasure.  He  was  a  young 
gentleman  from  Canada,  the  nephew  and  heir  of  a  Mr. 
Raymond,  an  old  and  esteemed  friend  of  the  elder  Mr. 
Morgan.  Until  this  summer,  when  he  came  to  Morgan- 


ALDEANE.  29 

vale  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  his  future  traveling 
companion,  George  Raymond  had  passed  the  greater  part 
of  his  life  in  severe  study,  and  almost  entire  seclusion. 
This,  Frederic  Morgan  said,  accounted  for  some  few  habits 
of  marked  eccentricity,  especially  one  which  led  him  to 
shun  society,  especially  that  of  ladies. 

But  it  so  happened  during  that  summer,  that  the  three 
young  people  at  Rose  Cottage,  and  the  two  at  Morgan- 
vale,  were  thrown  much  together,  and  were  obliged  to 
depend  almost  entirely  upon  each  other  for  society,  and 
thus  much  of  the  reserve  of  George  Raymond  was  de 
stroyed,  and  his  true  character  was  somewhat  mani 
fested,  at  least  to  one  of  the  group,  and  that  was  Aldeane 
Guthrie. 

Frederic  Morgan  had  told  her  that  George  Raymond 
was  the  son  of  a  gentleman,  who  had  died  in  Brazil,  and 
that  at  an  early  age  he  was  adopted  by  his  uncle,  and 
that  he  was  destined  to  become  the  head  of  the  well- 
known  firm  of  Raymond  and  Company.  To  this  little 
history  George  Raymond  never  added  a  word.  Yet 
there  was,  at  times,  and  chiefly  when  he  was  self-absorbed, 
an  expression  upon  his  face  which  led  Aldeane  to  believe 
he  could  have  added  much. 

But  she  never  spoke  of  this  to  her  brother,  and  never 
to  Belle  but  once,  and  then  the  latter  laughingly  said,  his 
was  just  the  face  for  romantic  girls  to  idealize,  or  connect 
with  some  horrible  mystery. 

Yes,  it  was  just  such  a  face,  so  dark,  so  eager,  so  lighted 
up  by  flashing  black  eyes,  or  so  shadowed  when  the  long 
silken  lashes  drooped  over  them.  It  was  truly  a  won 
derful  face,  not  only  in  beauty  but  expression.  How 
strong  it  always  was,  how  fierce  at  times,  and  often  this 
also  when  he  was  self-absorbed — how  vengeful,  yet  how 
sad. 

Aldeane  Guthrie  had  watched  for  a  month  or  more 
these  varying  expressions,  and  had  learned  to  know  them 


30  ALDEANE. 

all,  when  one  evening  there  came  into  his  face  one  that 
was  utterly  new — perhaps  to  her  face,  perhaps  to  her 
only. 

Belle  Ashton  had  been  bantering  her  old  friend  upon 
the  probability  of  his  bringing  a  wife  from  Europe,  and 
he  had  laughingly  replied  that  he  should  be  too  much  en 
gaged  in  study  to  think  of  such  a  thing,  but  that  doubt 
less  his  friend  Raymond  would  bring  home  some  fair 
creature  to  be  the  envy  and  admiration  of  all  her  trans 
atlantic  sisters. 

"I,"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  suddenly  looking  up, 
"  I  shall  never  marry." 

"  Why  not,"  cried  Frederic  Morgan,  while  the  yoiing 
ladies  glanced  at  him  in  surprise. 

It  was  then  that  Aldeane  Guthrie  saw  that  strange, 
new  expression  rest  upon  his  face.  It  was  one  of  abject 
loathing.  Of  what  ?  of  himself?  of  marriage  ?  He  did 
not  say.  But  the  expression  had  been  upon  his  face,  and 
though  a  mischievous  smile  immediately  succeeded  it, 
Aldeane  had  seen  it  and  it  haunted  her  for  days. 

"  Oh,  I  see  you  were  joking, "  said  Frederic  Morgan, 
after  a  moment's  pause  for  his  answer,  "  but  I  warn  you 
not  to  speak  such  heresy  before  the  ladies,  it  won't  do, 
will  it,  Arthur  ?" 

"  I  must  confess,"  said  the  latter,  "  I  am  surprised  at  it, 
after  hearing  the  unbounded  admiration  he  expressed  for 
your  cousin  a  short  time  ago." 

"  Miss  Greyson  is  certainly  very  beautiful,"  said  Mr. 
Raymond  quietly. 

"  And  so  your  cousin  has  arrived,"  cried  Miss  Ashton, 
turning  toward  Frederic  Morgan.  "  What  a  tiresome  crea 
ture  you  are  not  to  have  told  me  about  her  before,  when 
you  know  I  am  so  anxious  to  hear  all  about  her !  Is  she 
pretty  ?" 

"You  have  heard  Raymond's  verdict,"  returned  her 
friend,  provokingly  evading  a  direct  reply.  "  Now  do, 


ALDEANE.  31 

Belle,  spare  me  the  task  of  eulogizing  a  young  lady,  wlio 
is  my  father's  ward,  and  therefore  may,  for  a  long  spin- 
sterhood,  be  left  to  my  tender  mercies." 

"  You  provoking  creature,  I  don't  believe  you  admire 
her  a  bit !"  cried  Miss  Ashton,  with  perhaps  not  so  inuch 
indignation  at  this  circumstance  portrayed  in  her  face  as 
perfect  generosity  would  have  admitted  of. 

"Indeed  I  do,"  returned  Morgan  somewhat  more 
seriously.  "  I  think  her  a  beautiful  little  creature  ;  as 
pretty — yes,  quite  as  pretty  as  that  wax  doll  I  once  gave 
you." 

"  Your  memory  must  be  excellent,"  returned  Belle  with 
a  blush  and  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  it  recalls  to  me  events  even  more  distant  than 
that,"  he  replied  teasingly  ;  "  I  can  remember  quite  well 
when  we  one  day  played  truant  together,  and  being  lost 
in  the  woods,  were  about  to  make  ourselves  a  living 
edition  of  that  picture  over  the  table,  and  the  robins  were 
actually  thinking  of  looking  for  leaves  to  cover  us  with 
when — " 

A  firm  pair  of  white  hands  over  his  mouth,  raid 
then  a  struggle  with  the  possessor  thereof,  during  which 
every  one  laughed  a  great  deal,  except  Arthur  Guthrie, 
who  for  some  reason  looked  very  red  and  not  at  all  well 
pleased. 

And  this  often  occurred  at  such  times  during  the  re 
mainder  of  the  vacation,  without  his  at  all  knowing  why 
or  any  other  person  appearing  to  notice  it.  He  was 
particularly  fond  of  Frederic  Morgan,  who  as  his  senior 
in  college  had  often  been  of  great  service  to  him,  and  he 
admired  his  companion,  but  he  was  undeniably  pleased 
when  he  bade  them  farewell  upon  the  deck  of  the  steamer 
that  was  to  bear  them  to  Europe  upon  the  day  before 
that  in  which  he  returned  for  his  last  year  at  Harvard. 

"  And,  oh  dear,  I'm  dreadfully  lonely  !"  sighed  Belle 
Ashton  upon  the  evening  of  that  day,  as  she  sat  alone 


32  ALDEANE. 

with  her  friend  in  the  empty  parlors,  looking  out  upon 
the  moonlit  scene,  and  Aldeane  Guthrie  echoed  the  words 
in  her  heart  and  bent  her  eyes  that  none  might  see  the 
tears  that  glistened  in  them. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Belle,  after  a  silence  which  for 
her  was  very  long,  "  do  you  know,  I  don't  exactly  like 
the  companion  Fred  has  for  his  travels?  Mr.  George 
Raymond  may  be  very  handsome,  and  very  rich,  and 
very  excellently  educated,  but  there  is  something  about 
him  I  don't  like." 

"  Why  surely  you  can  have  no  fault  to  find  with 
him  ?"  asked  Aldeane,  in  her  usual  ready  defense  of  the 
absent.  "  I  am  sure  he  is  a  perfect  gentleman." 

"  Oh,  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  that,"  replied  Belle, 
"  and  of  course  you  should  defend  him,  for  he  is  very  like 
your  brother,"  and  then  she  blushed  vividly,  and  laughed 
as  if  in  some  slight  confusion. 

"I  do  not  think  him  at  all  like  Arthur,"  answered 
Aldeane,  "  except  that  both  are  dark.  But  now  that 
you  have  spoken  of  it,  Belle,  I  will  own  that  there  is  some 
thing  about  Mr.  Raymond  that  puzzles  me,  and  that  I 
really  wish  he  had  not  gone  with  Mr.  Morgan." 

"  Mr.  Morgan  would  doubtless  thank  you  for  your 
solicitude,"  replied  Belle,  laughingly,  and  then  she 
suddenly  approached  her  friend,  knelt  down  beside  her 
and  clasped  her  arms  about  her  waist. 

"  Speaking  of  Frederic  Morgan  "  she  said  softly,  look 
ing  somewhat  doubtfully  into  the  eyes  of  her  friend,  "  I 
have  a  secret  to  tell  you." 

"  A  secret,"  asked  Aldeane  wonderingly,  and  then  as 
she  noted  the  changing  color  that  came  and  went  upon 
her  face,  she  added  archly,  "  can  it  be,  dearest,  that  he 
has  taken  your  heart  with  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  replied  with  a  quick  laugh,  "  but  it  is 
something  you  will  think  much  worse  than  that ;  he  has 
taken  the  portrait  you  had  taken  for  me  in  your  gradua- 


ALDEANE.  33 

tion  dress.     Pray  don't  be  angry,  love.     I  really,  really 
told  him  I  couldn't,  wouldn't  spare  it." 

Aldeane  Guthrie  dropped  her  face  upon  her  hands  as  if 
in  sudden  fright,  and  presently  raised  it  crimsoned  as  she 
said,  "  It  was  wrong,  very  wrong,  Belle.  He  would  not 
have  dared  to  do  it,  if  you  had  not  encouraged  him." 

"  He  left  an  equivalent,"  returned  Belle  demurely,  as 
she  arose  and  kissed  her  friend,  "  he  really  did,  he  was 
so  conscience-stricken  "  and  dropping  a  small  ivory  case 
in  her  lap,  Belle  glided  from  the  room. 

Aldeane  Guthrie  trembled  as  she  looked  at  the  little 
case,  and  not  daring  to  open  it,  nor  to  leave  it  for  other 
eyes  to  see,  hastily  placed  it  in  the  pocket  of  her  dress. 

But  hours  later,  when  she  had  tremblingly  looked  upon 
the  bright,  handsome  young  face  portrayed  within,  it 
found  a  safer  resting-place — a  place  among  the  few  treas 
ures  possessed  by  her — and  who  shall  say  but  that  it  was 
the  most  precious  of  them  all. 
2* 


CHAPTER  V. 

SMALL  CHANGES  AND  ONE  GREAT  CHANGE. 

Six  uneventful  months  passed  by.  During  that  time 
Arthur  Guthrie  pursued  his  studies,  and  Aldeane  was  a 
teacher  in  the  school  in  which  she  had  been  so  long  a  pu 
pil.  She  was  contented  with  her  work  in  life  and  pursued 
it  steadily,  seldom  yielding  to  the  temptation  which  existed 
for  her  to  draw  painful  contrasts  between  her  own  dull 
round  of  duties,  and  that  of  pleasure  followed  by  her 
friend  Miss  Ashton. 

For  though  the  one  was  a  poor  teacher  and  the  other 
a  beautiful  heiress,  they  were  friends  still — the  dearest  and 
the  best,  and  it  was  Belle's  greatest  pleasure  to  spend  the 
long  Saturdays  in  Aldeane's  little  room — the  same  they 
had  for  so  many  years  shared  together,  or  to  take  her  for 
a  long  drive  into  the  country,  where  they  could  talk 
together  cheerfully  of  the  happy  past,  or  hopefully  of  the 
future. 

Then  there  was  the  Christmas  week  passed  with  Arthur 
at  Rose  Cottage,  what  a  happy  time  that  was !  what  a 
break  in  the  monotony  that  seemed  to  settle  for  the  win 
ter  blankly  upon  her !  and  then  to  be  broken  in  the  spring- 
by  an  interruption,  that  was  as  sudden  and  terrible  as  a 
thunderbolt. 

A  telegram  was  placed  in  her  hands  one  blustery  morn 
ing  in  March,  containing  but  six  words  :  "  Your  mother  is 
dying,  come  home,"  and  in  an  hour  later  Aldeane  Guthrie, 
almost  wild  with  apprehension  and  dismay,  was  seated  in 
a  stage-sleigh  and  was  on  her  way  to  her  unloved  home. 


ALDEANE.  35 

Unloved,  and  yet  so  eagerly  looked  for.  "  Your  mother 
is  dying,  come  home."  How  the  words  burned  into  her 
brain ;  and  then  she  wondered  why  they  had  been  sent  to 
her  by  Dr.  Bronson  instead  of  Mr.  Nevins,  and  then  her 
heart  failed  her  at  the  idea  of  meeting  her  cold,  stern 
step-father,  and  then  as  she  thought  of  her  mother,  was 
overwhelmed  with  grief  at  her  condition. 

It  seemed  an  age  to  the  anxious  traveler,  ere  the  well- 
known  village  appeared  in  view.  It  was  indeed  evening 
and  almost  dark,  so  early  had  the  gray  twilight  hidden  in 
its  cheerless  cloisters  the  sunbeams  that  had  vainly 
struggled  with  the  wind  and  sleet  for  existence.  It  was 
about  ten  minutes'  walk  from  the  village  to  the  farm,  but 
although  Aldeane  was  almost  benumbed  with  cold,  she 
was  preparing  to  start  briskly  forward ;  when  some  one 
touched  her,  and  looking  up  she  saw  Arthur,  unusually 
pale  and  grave,  standing  beside  her.  "  I  hoped,  almost 
expected,  you  would  be  here  to  night,  so  I  came  to  meet 
you,"  he  said  as  he  stooped  to  kiss  her,  then  turned  away 
struggling  with  emotion,  absently  folding  Aldeane's  shawl 
closer  around  her,  for  she  shivered  in  the-cold  evening  air, 
and  with  a  feeling  of  undefined  alarm. 

"  How  is  mother  ?"  she  queried  anxiously,  as  she  ob 
served  his  emotion. 

He  drew  her  hand  within  his  arm,  walked  on  a  few 
steps,  and  then  answered,  "  Aldeane,  she  will  never  feel 
sorrow  or  pain  again.  I  trust  our  mother  is  in  heaven." 

The  announcement  of  death,  no  difference  how  gently 
it  may  be  imparted,  or  however  well  we  may  consider 
ourselves  prepared  for  it,  always  falls  upon  us  with  a 
shock.  Especially  did  it  upon  Aldeane,  for  unconsciously 
during  her  solitary  journey,  she  had  been  treasuring 
hopes  that  her  mother's  danger  was  exaggerated,  and 
that  a  daughter's  loving  care  would  eventually  restore 
her  to  health.  When,  then,  she  heard  that  she  was  dead, 
it  seemed  as  if  the  cold  March  wind  had  swept  all  the 


36  ALDEANE. 

brightness  and  joyousness  away,  and  that  life  was  like 
the  drear,  snowy  waste  before  her.  Tearless  sobs  shook 
her  frame,  which  perceiving,  Arthur  endeavored  to  change 
to  a  more  healthy  flow  of  tears,  by  recounting  the  last 
moments  of  the  departed.  He  had  received  a  message 
the  previous  afternoon  from  the  same  hand  which  had 
penned  her  own,  and  taking  the  evening  stage  had  arrived 
that  morning  to  find  her  unconscious — dying  of  an  at 
tack  of  brain  fever. 

For  hours  he  remained  beside  her,  hoping  for  one  look 
or  word  of  recognition,  and  at  last  he  was  rewarded. 
Suddenly  she  opened  her  eyes,  called  his  name,  whispered 

brokenly,  "  The  paper,  at  Mr.  Ev "  and  immediately 

expired. 

The  doctor  and  Arthur  were  alone  with  her  at  the  time, 
and  Aldeane  amid  her  grief  was  glad  that  this  was  so, 
that  the  man  who  had  darkened  so  many  years  of  her 
mother's  life  was  not  present  to  cast  a  shadow  upon  her 
peaceful  death. 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  house,  and  striving 
to  compose  herself,  Aldeane  suffered  Arthur  to  lead  her 
into  the  sitting-room  in  which  we  first  saw  them,  aud 
there  standing  before  the  fire  was  Mr.  Kevins. 

He  started  as  Aldeane  entered,  apparently  unable  to 
recognize  her,  but  when  she  said,  "Mr.  Nevins,  I  am 
Aldeane  Guthrie, "  at  the  same  time  extending  her  hand, 
he  took  it  mechanically,  while  his  face  flushed  crimson, 
as  he  looked  upon  her.  He  answered  curtly  her  inquiries 
concerning  his  welfare,  and  pointing  her  to  a  chair  by 
the  fireside,  left  her  and  Arthur  alone,  saying  he  would 
order  some  refreshment  for  her.  His  manner  was  almost 
kind,  and  as  she  sank  upon  the  seat  he  had  designated, 
she  asked  herself  the  question,  "Have  we  not  judged 
him  too  harshly  ?  Perhaps  it  is  only  his  manner,  his  heart 
may  be  good." 

At  this  stage  of  her  reflections,  she  was  interrupted  by 


ALDEANE.  37 

Arthur,  who  forced  her  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine,  for  she 
was  looking  exceedingly  pale  and  haggard,  and  indeed 
she  was  quite  faint  from  inanition  and  fatigue.  She  soon 
laid  aside  her  heavy  wrappers,  and  endeavored  to  eat  of 
what  Arthur  placed  before  her,  knowing  well  that  she 
needed  strength  for  the  many  trials  that  it  would  yet  be 
her  lot  to  pass  through.  But  when  she  thought  of  her, 
who  would  have  welcomed  her  home  so  gladly,  lying 
pale  and  inanimate  in  the  chamber  above,  her  rising 
tears  and  sobs  choked  back  the  food,  and  it  was  with 
difficulty,  after  having  eaten  a  little,  that  she  could  per 
suade  Arthur  that  she  was  ready,  and  able  to  look  at 
the  dead. 

After  a  little,  they  ascended  the  cold  staircase,  through 
which  the  wind  was  whistling,  just  as  it  used  to  do  in 
by-gone  years,  and  stood  without  the  death-chamber. 
The  door  was  a  little  ajar,  and  they  saw  Mr.  Kevins 
within,  standing  at  the  bureau,  apparently  searching  for 
something  in  one  of  the  drawers.  He  hastily  shut  it 
as  they  entered,  and  turned  toward  them,  his  flushed 
face  wearing  a  look,  half  defiant,  half  frightened.  With 
a  hasty  speech  he  left  the  room,  seemingly  anxious  to 
avoid  them. 

Approaching  the  bed,  Arthur  drew  down  the  sheet  and 
discovered  the  face  of  his  dead  mother,  peaceful  and 
smiling  in  the  first  untroubled  sleep  she  had  known  for 
years.  A  sense  of  painful  desolation  fell  upon  Aldeane's 
heart,  as  she  gazed  upon  the  white,  upturned  face,  whose 
look  was  changeless  at  her  presence.  It  seemed  as  if  an 
unrelenting  hand  was  snapping  her  very  heart-strings  as 
she  pressed  her  lips  to  those,  so  unresponsive  to  the  ten 
derness.  She  turned  weeping  away,  and  encountered  the 
gaze  of  those  who  had  returned  to  their  lonely  watch 
beside  the  corpse.  Her  grief  to  them  was  sacred,  and 
with  half  audible  salutations  they  stood  aside  to  let  the 
mourners  pass. 


38  ALDEANE. 

Aldeane  was  very  tired,  grief  and  fatigue  had  severely 
tried  her  frame,  and  not  wishing  to  return  to  the  sitting- 
room  she  turned  aside  to  her  own  room,  and'  entering, 
found  a  fire  burning  brightly  upon  the  hearth  she  only 
remembered  as  dark  and  cheerless.  A  servant  was  busily 
engaged  in  arranging  the  room  for  her  reception.  She 
looked  at  Aldeane  with  some  curiosity  as  she  entered,  and 
after  a  stare,  prolonged  to  such  a  length  that  its  object 
became  quite  uneasy,  said  : 

"  May  be  you're  her  daughter  ?"  pointing  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  room  in  which  Mrs.  Nevins  lay. 

Aldeane  articulated  a  faint  "Yes." 
"  Ah  !  I  thought  so, "  continued  the  woman  loqua 
ciously.  "  You  look  some  like  her,  and  'twill  be  a  bless- 
in'  for  you  if  you're  half  as  good.  She  was  a  powerful 
nice  woman,  to  be  sure.  I've  heard  her  speak  of  you 
often,  and  of  her  son,  too.  She  was  'mazin'  proud  of 
him.  Dear  !  dear  !  it's  a  good  mother  you've  lost — laws 
a  me,  it  does  seem  dreadful  that  she's  dead  and  gone. 
But  I  didn't  mean  to  make  you  cry,  miss.  Now,  do 
cheer  up  !  We  must  all  come  to  it  sooner  or  later,  and 
we  all  know  she  was  ready  for  it.  Can't  I  do  any  thing 
more  for  you  ?"  she  queried,  looking  around  the  warm, 
cosy  room  with  an  air  of  pride. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Aldeane,  "  you  may  send  my  brother  to 
me.  Ask  him  to  come  up  to  my  room,  and  to  bring  with 
him  some  paper,  pens,  and  ink,  and  then,  as  you  have  got 
every  thing  so  nice,  I  shall  not  need  you  any  more  to 
night." 

"  Very  well,  ma'am,"  said  the  really  kind-hearted  girl. 
"  As  you  don't  want  me  any  more  I'll  go  'long  down  and 
see  how  the  widderer  is  a  comin'  along.  Nice  man  he  is, 
to  be  sure  !  Mighty  sorry  she's  dead,  I  reckon.  He 
hasn't  wanted  her  dead  ever  since  I've  known  'em  !  Oh  ! 
no,  of  course  not !"  and  she  smiled  ironically  as  she  left 
the  room,  leaving  all  the  bitter  feelings  that  had  been 


ALDEANE.  39 

composing  themselves  to  rest,  battling  in  Aldeane's  heart 
with  renewed  vigor  at  these  significant  words. 

Arthur  soon  appeared,  bringing  with  him  the  articles 
she  had  mentioned,  asking  for  what  purpose  they  were 
destined. . 

"  To  write  to  Belle,  of  course,"  answered  Aldeane, 
drawing  her  chair  near  the  table,  and  absently  examining 
the  paper.  "  I  am  nearly  worn  out,  already !  Mother's 
death  was  such  a  dreadful  shock  to  me.  It  seems  but 
yesterday  that  I  saw  her  well  and  happy.  Belle  remarked 
to  me,  then,  how  well  she  looked.  Oh  !  I  wish  she  was 
here  now !" 

"  I  wish  she  was,"  replied  Arthur.  "  But  it  is  not 
much  use  for  you  to  write  to  her  to  come.  I  do  not 
think  she  could  reach  here  until  the  day  after  the  funeral 
— that  takes  place  to-morrow,  you  know.  I  wished  it 
delayed  a  day  longer,  but  Mr.  Nevins  would  not  listen  to 
such  a  proposal." 

"  I  presume  he  desires  us  to  leave  the  house  as  quickly 
as  possible,"  returned  Aldeane,  bitterly.  "  I  shall  go  to 
Hose  Cottage  before  I  return  to  school,  so  I  will  write  to 
Belle  and  tell  her  of  our  affliction,  for,  indeed,  I  must  un 
burden  my  heart  to  some  one,  and  she,  I  know,  will 
sympathize  with  me.  There  is  a  load  of  sorrow  in  my 
heart  which  it  seems  as  if  I  shall  always  carry  with  me, 
her  commiseration  may  lighten  it,"  and  she  began  to 
write.  Arthur  sat  meditating  in  silence  until  the  cessa 
tion  of  the  rapid  scratching  of  the  pen  denoted  that  the 
letter  was  finished.  He  read  the  offered  epistle ;  then, 
while  she  sealed  and  directed  it,  fell  again  into  a  fit 
of  musing,  which  lasted  until  a  deep-drawn  sigh  from 
Aldeane  aroused  him. 

"  Aldeane,"  he  at  length  observed,  "  I  have  been  think 
ing  of  mother's  last  woi'ds,  and  I  can  not  but  think  it 
providential  that  they  were  not  heard  by  Nevins,  for  I 
think  that  paper  is  some  disclosure  concerning  him." 


40  ALDEANE. 

"  Some  disclosure,  Arthur,"  said  Aldeane,  wonder- 
ingly. 

"  Yes,"  he  returned,  "  I  have  been  thinking  of  him 
much  of  late,  and  I  have  a  thousand  suspicions  of  him — -all 
unjust,  perhaps,  but  very  real.  You  do  not  believe  in 
natural  antipathies,  I  believe,"  he  asked,  turning  toward 
her  suddenly. 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  I  do,"  she  answered,  hesitatingly. 

"  But  I  can  assure  you,  Aldeane,"  continued  Arthur, 
earnestly,  "  that  a  natural  antipathy  exists  between  that 
man  and  me,  and  the  only  barrier  that  stood  between  our 
hatreds  is  gone.  I  am  passive  still,  I  can  not  but  be  pas 
sive,  but  he  will  work — he  is  working  even  now.  I  feel  it. 
I  know  it.  I  am  awaiting  his  attack.  My  mother  knew 
it  would  come.  That  paper  in  Lawyer  Evans's  hands  is 
to  prepare  me  for  it." 

"  You  are  excited  and  nervous,  to-night,"  said  Aldeane, 
soothingly.  "  The  events  of  the  day  have  been  too  much 
for  you,  dear  brother.  I  can  not  think  that  Mr.  Kevins 
will  injure  us,  for  in  injuring  you  he  injures  me.  We 
will  never  be  divided,  brother." 

"  Thank  you  for  that  promise,  my  darling,"  he  said, 
kissing  her  fondly.  "  I  will  remember  that,  whatever 
happens."  And  years  afterward  he  did  remember  it ; 
years  afterward  when  she,  perhaps,  had  forgotten  that 
she  had  ever  uttered  it. 

He  left  her  then,  taking  her  letter  with  him,  promising 
to  send  it  by  a  man  who  would  pass  Rose  Cottage  the 
next  day. 

After  a  sleepless  night  Aldeane  descended  to  the 
sitting-room,  where  she  exchanged  formal  good-mornings 
with  Mr.  Nevins,  after  which  he  questioned  her  in  an 
interested  manner  concerning  her  school,  her  position,  and 
many  minor  details,  all  of  which  greatly  surprised 
Aldeane.  Naturally  frank  and  unsuspicious  herself,  she 
always  believed  others  possessed  of  the  same  qualities, 


ALDEANE,  41 

but  as  she  looked  upon  the  man  before  her  it  was  impossible 
for  her  to  divest  herself  of  the  conviction  that  his  kind 
ness  was  all  assumed  to  serve  some  vile  purpose. 

He  at  length  asked  her  how  she  would  like  to  exchange 
school-teaching  for  housekeeping,  hinting  very  plainly 
that  he  considered  it  her  duty  to  take  her  mother's  place 
in  the  household. 

Aldeane  would  also  have  thought  so,  had  he  ever 
treated  her  with  the  interest  and  affection  due  her  as  her 
mother's  child.  But  as  he  had,  on  the  contrary,  treated 
both  Arthur  and  herself,  heretofore,  with  the  most  bitter 
contempt  and  dislike,  she  felt  under  no  obligations  to 
take  the  place  of  a  housekeeper  under  his  control.  So 
she  replied  that  "  she  must,  of  course,  finish  out  her  year 
at  school,  and  besides  that,  she  was  perfectly  ignorant 
of  household  details,  and  that  she  would  be  of  no  use  at 
home." 

Mr.  Nevins  did  not  seem  at  all  baffled  or  discouraged, 
and  returned,  that  as  for  that  matter,  she  would  soon 
learn  all  that  was  necessary,  and  he  would  supply  her 
with  good  servants — that  she  ought  to  practice  domestic 
economy,  for  he  supposed  some  fine  city  beau  had  got  her 
promise  already,  and  if  not,  that  there  were  plenty  in 
the  country  that  would  be  glad  enough  to  get  her. 

The  light  bantering  tone  in  which  he  spoke,  as  well  as 
the  speech  itself,  sounded  exceedingly  heartless  and  in 
delicate  to  Aldeane.  A  slight  sneer  curled  her  lip,  which 
perceiving,  Mr.  Nevins  endeavored  to  dispel  by  suddenly 
drawing  out  his  purse  in  a  most  unaccountable  and  un 
precedented  fit  of  liberality,  and  asking  her  how  much 
she  would  require  to  obtain  mourning  garments. 

Aldeane's  heart  swelled  with  a  feeling  of  scorn  at  this 
pitiful  bribery,  and  with  indignation  and  shame  that  she 
should  be  its  object.  She  replied  proudly,  that  she  had 
plenty  of  money  for  the  purpose,  as  her  salary  had  been 
lately  paid  her. 


42  ALDEANE. 

Mr.  Nevins  replaced  his  purse,  with  a  look  of  gratifica 
tion,  and  as  Arthur  entered  sat  down  to  the  breakfast- 
table  scarcely  heeding  his  salutation.  The  meal  was 
passed  in  silence,  and  soon  after  it  was  ended,  the  host 
left  them,  seeming  ill  at  ease  in  Arthur's  presence ;  they 
could  not  but  notice  this,  and  with  feelings  of  deep  dis 
trust  noted  it  down  as  evidence,  that  he  contemplated 
some  mischief  against  Arthur,  which  would  of  course 
also  involve  Aldeane.  Its  exact  natuz-e  they  taxed  their 
minds  to  the  utmost  limits  of  conjecture  to  ascertain,  but 
could  in  no  degree  determine.  Arthur's  visit  to  the 
lawyer  had  been  made  to  no  purpose.  He  was  danger 
ously  ill,  and  at  such  a  time  when  his  death  was  moment 
arily  expected,  his  son  could  not  be  consulted  upon  any 
business  matter,  however  urgent.  So,  unwillingly,  Arthur 
was  obliged  to  postpone  the  inquiries  and  investigations 
he  had  determined  to  make.  He  was  assured  of  the  hearty 
assistance  of  his  old  friend  Charles  Evans,  and  was  con 
tent  to  let  the  matter  rest  for  a  short  period. 

Mourning  garments,  by  Arthur's  orders,  had  been  pre 
pared  at  the  village  for  Aldeane.  With  a  sad,  and  heavy 
heart  she  appeared  in  them  at  her  mother's  burial,  and 
bent  over  the  yawning  grave  in  which  was  soon  inclosed 
that  one  who  through  life  had  so  fondly  cherished  her. 
Ah,  Aldeane,  well  might  you  bewail  that  tender  mother. 
With  her,  was  home,  and  peace,  and  love  all  buried. 

There  was  left  the  walls  of  strangers,  and  their  shelter 
and  kindness,  nothing  more,  sad  heart,  nothing,  nothing 
more. 

And  what  for  Arthur?  Scarcely  these  in  such  full 
measure  as  came  to  Aldeane,  but  full  measure  to  over 
flowing  of  the  world's  enmity  and  hatred,  and  he  knew 
that  the  hand  to  mete  it  out  to  him  would  be  that  of  his 
step-father,  Jonas  Nevins. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

WHAT  ARTHUR'S  CAUTION  AVAILED. 

THE  morning  after  the  funeral,  Mr.  Kevins  informed 
Arthur  that  he  desired  an  interview  of  five  minutes  with 
him,  and  that  he  should  advise,  but  not  insist,  that  Aldeane 
should  be  absent. 

Never  perhaps  were  two  men  more  directly  contrasted 
than  the  two  she  left  together  at  the  breakfast-table,, 
rising  after  pouring  the  coffee  and  excusing  herself  upon 
the  plea  of  a  violent  headache,  which  was  indeed  more 
real  than  such  excuses  generally  are.  Jonas  Kevins  had 
of  late  rapidly  grown  old,  with  such  age,  as  deep  and 
anxious  care,  and  doubtfully  held  prospeiity  often  brings. 
He  looked  nervously  at  the  young  man  opposite  him  as 
if  measuring  his  strength  both  of  body  and  mind. 

"  You  are  a  handsome  fellow,"  he  said  at  length. 
"  Your  mother  did  well  to  be  proud  of  her  only  child." 

"Her  only  child!"  exclaimed  Arthur.  "Is  Aldeane 
then  not  my  sister  ?" 

"What  a  sharp  lawyer  this  man  will  make,"  cried 
Kevins  in  affected  admiration,  "  to  have  had  his  father's 
will  before  his  eyes  all  these  years  and  never  to  have 
suspected  that !" 

Arthur  looked  at  him  in  dumb  amazement  which  had 
not  long  in  it  any  element  of  unbelief,  for  suddenly  a 
hundred  things  which  had  puzzled  him  were  explained. 
But  if  Aldeane  was  not  his  sister,  who  was  she  ? 

This  was  the  first  question  he  found  breath  to  ask,  and 


44  ALDEANE. 

Mr.  Nevins,  who  had  been  watching  him  narrowly  as  if  to 
learn  whether  the  information  he  volunteered  was  indeed 
new,  answered  him  readily,  "  The  exact  relationship 
existing  between  you  and  the  young  lady  I  can  not 
explain.  Howevef  I  believe  there  is  some  relationship." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,  sir,  that  my  mother  never 
explained  it  to  you  ?"  asked  Arthur  doubtfully,  thinking 
to  himself  that  doubtless  the  paper  she  had  left  with  the 
lawyer  would  do  so  fully  to  him. 

"  You  know  your  mother  was  not  inclined  to  trust  me 
voluntarily  with  any  secret,"  answered  Nevins,  shrugging 
his  shoulders,  and  taking  a  position  with  his  back  to  the 
fire,  whence  he  looked  at  Arthur,  who  toyed  with  his  cup 
and  spoon  thoughtfully.  "  Of  course,"  he  continued  with 
a  smile  of  triumph,  "  she  could  not  long  deceive  me  as  to 
Aldeane's  real  position." 

"  I  can  not  imagine  how  I  have  been  blind  so  long," 
mused  Arthur,  and  then  he  hurriedly  said  something  of 
the  necessity  of  keeping  this  from  her. 

"  Why  as  to  that,"  said  Mr.  Nevins  very  coolly,  "  I  was 
about  to  recommend  to  you,  that  she  be  told  immediately, 
that  she  may  at  once  recognize  the  fact  that  she  has  no 
claim  upon  you." 

"  You  mistake,  sir,"  answered  Arthur  lifting  his  head 
and  looking  at  him  proudly.  "  Aldeane  has  every  claim 
upon  me.  I  consider  her  a  sacred  trust  left  to  me  by  my 
dead  mother." 

"  Estimable  woman !"  said  Mr.  Nevins,  with  a  little  sigh 
and  another  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "Very  estimable 
woman,  but  mistaken  on  some  points.  For  instance,  I  think 
she  should  have  explained  Aldeane's  position  to  you." 

Arthur  coincided  in  this  opinion  more  closely  than  he 
could  remember  having  ever  done  with  any  expressed  by 
Mr.  Nevins  before,  but  he  said  nothing,  and  his  step 
father  continued :  "  I  hope,  at  least,  young  man,  that  she 
informed  you  perfectly  of  yours." 


ALDEANE.  45 

Arthur  glanced  at  him  keenly.  "  I  think  I  can  hardly 
be  mistaken  as  to  that,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Kevins  nodded  gravely,  and  drew  from  his  pocket 
a  well-filled  wallet.  "  Of  course,"  he  said,  as  he  opened 
it,  "  you  are  prepared  to  acknowledge  these  claims  I  hold 
against  you  ?"  and  he  placed  before  the  astonished  young 
man  a  series  of  papers  which  he  recognized  as  the  quar 
terly  school-bills  of  himself  and  Aldeane. 

"  These  bills  are  doubtless  genuine,"  he  said  at  length, 
in  as  calm  a  voice  as  he  could  assume,  "  but  I  can  not  see 
why  they  are  placed  before  me  to-day." 

"  For  settlement,  sir,  for  settlement,"  said  Mr.  Kevins 
grandly.  "  These  bills,  sir,  you  doubtless  know,  will  be 
handed  you  for  settlement  from  your  estate." 

Arthur  Guthrie  rose  from  his  seat,  his  eyes  absolutely 
blazing  with  passion.  "  I  deny  the  validity  of  your 
claims,  sir,"  he  exclaimed,  "and  I  denounce  you  as  a 
villain." 

Kevins  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  smiled  in  the  cool 
est  manner.  "  I  told  your  mother  you  would  do  that," 
he  said. 

"  My  mother  was  never  a  party  to  this  shameful  decep 
tion,"  exclaimed  Arthur.  "  Do  you,  sir,  ignore  a  conver 
sation  which  took  place  between  us  upon  this  subject 
three  summers  ago  ?" 

"  I  remember,"  he  replied,  "  that  about  that  time  I  was 
obliged,  by  my  promise  to  your  mother,  to  aid  in  a  very 
pardonable  deception  which  she  practiced  upon  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Arthur. 

"  Simply  that  your  mother  well  knew  that  I  intended 
to  carry  out  your  father's  will  merely  to  the  extent  of  a 
fair  division  of  the  interest  of  the  actual  property  left  by 
him  would  allow.  That  share  would,  perhaps,  find  you 
in  clothes ;  but  I  am  not  quite  sure  of  it,  as  I  observe 
you  like  to  dress  well." 

Arthur  made  no  reply,  but  looked  at  him  from  head  to 


46  ALDEANE. 

foot ;  but  so  far  from  appearing  uneasy  under  the  scru 
tiny,  he  continued :  "  I  don't  deny  but  that  I  have  done 
well  by  your  father's  property,  but  that  is  no  reason  why 
I  should  waste  the  proceeds  of  ray  labor  upon  you,  nor 
do  I  intend  to  do  so." 

Arthur  Guthrie  was  silent  for  full  fifteen  minutes,  dur 
ing  which  time  Mr.  Nevins  carelessly  hummed  a  tune  and 
pared  his  finger-nails,  observing  his  victim,  however,  with 
a  glance  that  never  faltered. 

"  I  told  you,  three  years  ago,  that  I  would  never  by 
law  enforce  my  father's  will,"  said  Arthur,  at  last,  "  and 
in  what  you  have  to-day  told  me  of  Aldeane,  the  truth  of 
which  I  can  not  doubt,  I  have  an  additional  reason  for  not 
doing  so.  What  is  the  total  amount  of  these  bills  ?" 

o 

"  Something  near  seven  thousand  dollars,  I  believe." 

"  Interest  and  all  ?" 

"  Interest,  of  course." 

Again  Arthur  was  for  a  long  time  silent.  His  first  im 
pulse  was  to  offer  no  terms  to  this  man  until  after  he  had 
seen  the  paper  left  with  Mr.  Evans,  and  had  consulted 
Mr.  Ashton,  but  fearing  that  in  case  of  this  delay  Nevins 
might  inform  Aldeane  of  the  false  position  which  she  had 
so  long  held,  and  which  he  resolved  should  never  become 
known  to  her  until  the  whole  mystery  could  be  explained, 
he  at  length  said : 

'  "Upon  one  condition,  and  one  alone,  Mr.  Kevins,  I 
will  pay  your  unjust  demand,  and  that  is,  that  henceforth 
you  maintain  entire  silence  regarding  Aldeane,  and  never 
breathe  to  any  soul,  most  especially  to  herself,  one  word 
of  what  you  have  to-day  told  me." 

"  Why,  really,  the  matter  is  nothing  to  me,"  said  Kev 
ins,  readily  adding,  with  a  grim  sort  of  enjoyment,  "  It 
will  take  all  your  little  fortune,  eh  ?" 

To  this  Arthur  deigned  no  reply,  but  said :  "  You  will 
understand,  sii%,  that  you  have  given  me  a  promise  to-day, 
or,  rather,  that  I  have  purchased  it  with  a  bribe." 


ALDEANE.  47 

Nevins  colored  to  the  temples.  "  At  least,"  he  said, 
after  a  pause,  "  if  there  is  silence  upon  my  part  there  must 
be  on  yours." 

Arthur  nodded  contemptuously.  "  You  may  be  sure  I 
shall  be  silent  until  you  speak.  I  shall  be  too  careful  of 
Aldeane's  peace  for  that." 

"  By  the  way,  I  have  something  more  to  say  of 
Aldeane,"  said  Nevins,  thoughtfully. 

Arthur  looked  at  him,  but  he  did  not  seem  able  to  speak 
as  readily  as  he  wished.  "  I  wish,"  he  said  at  last,  abruptly 
and  plainly  enough,  "to  adopt  Aldeane." 

Arthur  looked  at  him  in  intense  astonishment.  "To 
that  I  will  never  consent,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  do  not  see  that  your  consent  would  be  of  much  im 
portance,"  retorted  Nevins.  "  I  shall  make  the  proposi 
tion  to  Aldeane,  and  it  is  for  her  to  refuse  or  accept,  as 
she  pleases.  I  shall,  of  course,  represent  to  her  that  the 
greater  part  of  your  debt  to  me  has  been  incurred  by  hef , 
and  that  by  becoming  my  daughter,  and  utterly  renoun 
cing  you,  she  will  free  you  from  the  necessity  of  paying 
her  share  of  it." 

"  You  may  spare  yourself  the  trouble  of  making  such 
a  proposition  to  Aldeane,"  said  Arthur  firmly.  "She 
shall  never  accept  it." 

"I  shall  spare  no  trouble  to  insure  her  welfare,"  an 
swered  Nevins.  "  I  have  a  peculiar  affection  for  her,  and 
it  is  for  that  reason  I  assented  so  readily  to  your  propo 
sition  ;  I  am  as  anxious  as  you  are  that  her  peace  of  mind 
shall  not  be  disturbed.  I  am  also  anxious  to  place  her  in 
the  position  for  which  she  was  designed  by  birth." 

"  You  know,  then,  who  and  what  she  is  ?"  cried  Arthur 
quickly. 

"  Of  that  I  shall  say  nothing-,  but  whatever  might  be 
her  birth,  I  offer  to  place  her  now  in  an  enviable  position 
— to  make  her  my  heiress." 

"  I  decline  the  honor  for  her,"  said  Arthur. 


48  ALDEANE. 

"  You  are  premature,"  answered  Nevins,  frowning.  "  I 
will  myself  speak  to  Aldeane  this  afternoon." 

"  Aldeane  will  be  true  to  herself  and  to  me,"  answered 
Arthur  proudly. 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference  to  me,"  mused 
Nevins,  as  Arthur  withdrew.  "  I  have  at  least  by  this  offer 
established  the  name  of  a  model  step-father,  and  should 
she  accept  she  will  be  mightily  useful  as  the  mistress  of 
my  town  establishment ;  and  if  I  should  die,  as  I  suppose 
all  men  must — though  it  is  a  decidedly  unpleasant  ar 
rangement — why  there  would  be  a  sort  of  poetical 
justice  in  leaving  my  money  to  her." 

But  there  seemed  no  probability  that  he  would  ever 
be  called  upon  to  do  that,  for  Aldeane  Guthrie,  after 
having  been  informed  by  Arthur  of  the  course  Nevins 
had  taken,  could  not  for  a  moment  think  of  assuming 
toward  him  the  relationship  he  proposed. 
•  "  My  dear  brother,"  she  sobbed,  "  I  know  I  am  selfish 
in  impoverishing  you  so,  but  I  can  better  do  that  than 
dishonor  you  by  taking  that  man's  name,  and  accepting 
his  bounty." 

"  Far  better,  my  darling,  far  better,"  he  answered,  with 
a  fond  embrace.  "  Follow  my  fortunes,  dearest.  Poor  as 
they  may  be,  they  will  at  least  be  those  of  an  honorable 
man." 

And  something  of  this,  in  her  just  indignation,  she 
told  Mr.  Nevins  that  afternoon,  to  which  he  coolly  re 
plied,  that  he  had  done  his  duty,  and  that  she  might 
pursue  the  course  she  had  chosen  without  hinderance 
from  him. 

And  the  next  morning  before  its  owner  arose,  Arthur 
and  Aldeane  Guthrie,  left  the  farm-house  forever,  and 
hastened  from  its  coldness  and  gloom  to  the  warmth  and 
light  of  Rose  Cottage. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ALDEANE   TAKES   A   JOURNEY,    AND   FINDS   A   HOME. 

FOUR  months  later  Arthur  Guthrie  was  an  almost 
penniless  student  in  a  law  office  in  Boston,  his  step-father 
was  in  undisputed  possession  of  the  greater  portion  of 
his  property,  and  Aldeane  was  spending  the  vacation  at 
Rose  Cottage. 

She  had  just  entered  with  Miss  Ashton  from  a  call  at 
Mrs.  Morgan's,  and  was  sitting  upon  the  piazza  discuss 
ing  the  manners  and  appearance  of  her  niece,  Miss  Annie 
Greyson. 

"  She  is  certainly  very  beautiful,"  said  Aldeane. 

"  Yes,"  returned  her  friend,  "  as  Fred  once  said,  she  is 
like  a  lovely  doll,  and  my  opinion  is,  she  has  also  about 
as  much  heart  and  brain  as  a  doll." 

"  Why,  I  am  sure,"  said  Aldeane  reproachfully,  "  she 
seems  to  like  every  one." 

"  Certainly,  she  does,"  she  returned,  with  a  merry 
laugh ;  "  she  has  not  animation  enough  to  support  a  pre 
judice." 

"  I  wonder  Mr.  Morgan  did  not  return  home  when  his 
father  died,"  said  Aldeane,  bending  low  over  some  trifle 
in  her  hand. 

"  I  wondered  at  it  too,"  answered  Belle,  "  but  it  ap 
pears  that  Mr.  Morgan  expressed  a  wish  that  his  son 
should  complete  his  tour.  I  am  sure  poor  Fred  can  have 
but  little  heart  for  it.  I  wish  he  would  come  home.  I 
shall  be  so  lonely,  when  you  are  gone." 


50  ALDEANE. 

Aldeane  pressed  the  hand  of  her  friend.  "My  dear 
love,"  said  she,  "  what  will  be  your  loneliness  to  mine  ?" 

"  And  yet  you  are  glad  to  go,"  said  Belle. 

"  Almost,"  she  answered,  "  or,  at  least,  I  am  glad  that 
Professor  Grenville  considered  me  worthy  of  the  situa 
tion." 

"What  did  he  say  the  lady's  name  was?"  asked 
Belle. 

"  Arendell,  Mrs.  John  Arendell.  She  was  once  a  pupil 
of  his." 

"The  name  seems  quite  familiar  to  me,"  said  Belle, 
"but  of  course  I  can  not  know  her.  I  am  surprised  that 
Arthur  has  consented  to  allow  you  to  go  so  far  from 
him," 

Aldeane  smiled.  "  It  really  is  not  such  a  long  distance, 
Belle,  and  as  North  Carolina  is  our  native  State,  it  is 
natural  we  should  have  some  inclination  for  it.  Dear 
Arthur !  I  hope  you  will  be  very  kind  to  him,  Belle,  when 
I  am  gone." 

Belle  reddened  and  smiled.  "  I  can  hardly  fail  to  be 
that,"  she  replied,  "  every  one  likes  him  but  that  horrible 
Kevins.  Do  you  know,  Aldeane,  Charley  Evans  told 
papa  that  he  believes  Kevins  bribed  that  clerk  he  dis 
charged  soon  after  his  father's  death,  yes,  actually  bribed 
him,  to  give  him  that  paper  your  mother  left  with  him,  for 
not  a  trace  of  it  could  be  found.  I  never  saw  papa  in  such 
a  way  about  any  thing." 

"  Hush,"  said  Aldeane  warningly,  "  it  is  indeed  a  very 
strange  thing,  but  we  ought  not  to  talk  of  it.  Unfor 
tunately  Mr.  Evans  was  a  very  eccentric  man,  and  used 
to  find  the  strangest  hiding-places  for  most  valuable 
papers." 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  Belle,  "  Charley  used  to  tell 
Arthur  when  he  was  at  college,  that  the  business  never 
would  be  straightened  if  he  died  of  apoplexy,  as  there  was 
every  indication  he  would.  But  how  provoking  to  think 


ALDEANE.  51 

the  old  gentleman's  secretive  propensities  should  so  nearly 
affect  you." 

"  Or  at  least,  Arthur,"  said  Aldeane.  "  Poor  fellow  !  it 
has  grieved  me  so  to  be  such  a  drawback  to  him.  It 
seems  so  unnatural  for  him  to  be  poor." 

"  Yes,"  said  a  voice  behind  them,  "  he  has  a  most  gentle 
manly  aptitude  for  disposing  of  riches." 

But  Aldeane,  as  she  turned  toward  the  speaker,  knew 
that  he  thought  none  the  worse  of  her  brother  for  that, 
and  his  daughter  laughingly  reproved  him  for  uttering 
what  she  termed  such  heresy,  and  called  upon  him  once 
more,  for  the  hundredth  time,  to  oppose  Aldeane's  inten 
tion  of  going  South  as  a  governess.  But  he  very  gravely 
objected  to  doing  any  thing  of  the  sort,  but  highly  com 
mended  her  resolve,  seeming  indeed  to  have  some  higher 
reason  for  doing  so  than  the  thought  of  the  excellent 
salary  and  light  duties  that  had  tempted  her. 

And  three  weeks  later,  Aldeane  Guthrie  was  in  a  new 
sphere  of  action,  actively  er>tering  upon  her  new  duties 
without  many  regrets,  for  the  love  and  friends  she  had 
left  behind,  with  strong  hopes  for  the  future,  and  no  weak 
fears. 

With  the  greatest  anxiety,  Belle  thought  of  her  friend, 
who  had  gone  to  brave  the  world  alone ;  and  among 
strangers.  Days  seemed  to  pass  like  long  dreary  weeks 
as  she  impatiently  awaited  a  letter  from  her.  It  came  at 
last,  and  with  a  joyful  and  beating  heart,  she  broke  the 
seal,  and  eagerly  devoted  herself  to  the  perusal  of  the 
many  and  closely  written  pages.  As  they  contained  a 
full  account  of  her  new  home  and  its  inhabitants,  we 
will  present  them  to  the  reader : 

LORIXG,  N.  C.,  August  — ,  18 — . 
MY  DEAR  BELLE  : 

As  I  promised  to  do,  when  I  left  you,  I  am  writing  at 
my  earliest  opportunity.  I  arrived  here  three  days  ago. 


52  ALDEANE. 

My  adventures  on  the  journey  are  too  numerous  and  trite 
to  mention.  So  I  will  pass  them  by.  I  found  myself, 
after  a  long  jolting  ride,  in  a  miserable  stage-coach,  over 
the  roughest  of  roads,  at  Loring.  It  was  about  eight 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  but  the  heat  which  had  nearly 
suffocated  me  throughout  the  day,  did  not  seem  in  the 
slightest  degree  diminished.  .  I  had  expected  to  find  quite 
a  large  town,  as  Loring  is  the  county  seat.  It  is  in  fact 
nothing  but  a  small  village,  and  an  ancient  and  gloomy- 
looking  place — at  least  as  I  viewed  it  by  the  brilliant  light 
of  the  summer  moon.  I  was  about  to  inquire  for  the  resi 
dence  of  Mr.  Arendell,  when  a  negro  man  approached, 
and  asked  if  I  was  "  Miss  Guthrie."  I  replied  that  I  was. 
He  then  said  "  Mass  John  had  sent  him  for  me,  and  would 
have  come  himself,  if  he  had  been  at  home."  ISTot  exactly 
knowing  who  Mass  John  might  be,  I  asked  him  whether 
he  meant  Mr.  Arendell.  "  I  mean  de  Colonel,  ma'am,  dere 
ain't  no  Mr.  Arendell  now."  I  laughed  at  the  earnestness 
with  which  he  spoke,  and  was  a  little  surprised  at  the 
seai'ching  glance  with  which  he  regarded  me.  I  pointed 
out  my  luggage  to  him.  It  was  soon  placed  at  the  back 
of  the  carriage,  in  which  I  had  seated  myself,  and  we 
drove  rapidly  out  of  the  town.  I  asked  Uncle  Adam,  for 
that  proved  to  be  the  driver's  name,  how  far  we  had  to 
go.  "  'Bout  two  miles,  miss,"  was  his  reply.  I  was  very 
glad  to  know  that  I  was  not  to  live  in  the  little  dingy 
place  we  had  left.  After  driving  through  thick  woods 
for  some  distance,  we  ascended  a  gentle  elevation  and  were 
in  sight  of  Arendell  House.  It  is  a  large  white  mansion, 
with  piazzas  on  every  side,  almost  covered  with  climbing 
roses  and  flowering  vines.  The  long  windows,  shaded  by 
Venetian  blinds,  reached  to  the  ground,  and  as  we  ap 
proached  I  saw  a  gentleman,  with  a  long  reed  pipe  in  his 
hand,  step  out  of  one  of  them,  and  join  a  lady  who  was 
standing  upon  the  piazza.  A  moment  afterward,  the  car 
riage  stopped  at  the  gate.  The  gentleman  was  there,  and 


ALDEANE.  53 

assisted  me  to  alight.  Pie  introduced  himself  as  Colonel 
Arendell.  He  is  about  fifty  years  old,  tall  and  thin,  like 
most  of  the  natives  of  the  South.  His  hair  is  thin  and 
gray;  his  complexion  sallow,  and  his  whole  appearance 
somewhat  meager.  He  has  a  careless  and  happy  expression 
of  countenance,  and  his  good-humored  smile,  as  well  as 
the  words  with  which  he  greeted  me,  prepared  me  for  a 
sincere  welcome  from  the  other  members  of  the  family. 
As  he  welcomed  me,  I  for  the  first  time  thought  of  my 
travel-soiled  appearance ;  but  it  was  too  late  to  remedy  it 
now ;  so  in  some  confusion  I  followed  him  to  the  house, 
and  was  introduced  to  Mrs.  Arendell.  She  is  a  fine,  hand 
some  woman.  I  have  somewhere  seen  a  face  much  resem 
bling  hers,  but  I  can  not  remember  where.  She  is  much 
younger  than  her  husband,  and  far  more  elegant.  I  saw 
at  a  glance  that  she  was  a  Northerner,  and  immediately 
felt  as  if  I  had  found  an  old  friend.  Her  manners  are  so 
winning  and  charming  that  I  soon  became  perfectly  at 
case  in  her  company.  She  conducted  me  to  the  supper 
table,  which  was  most  temptingly  spread ;  on  returning  to 
the  parlor,  a  young  lady  about  fifteen  years  old,  arose  to 
meet  me. 

"  My  step-daughter,  Leonore,"  said  Mrs.  Arendell. 

I  wish  I  could  place  Leonore  Arendell  before  you  in 
all  her  beauty ;  my  description  can  never  convey  to  you 
the  indescribable  charm  and  grace  that  surrounds  her. 
She  is  small,  and  delicately  formed;  her  complexion  is 
as  fair  as  a  pure  white  lily,  with  a  tint  of  rose  over 
spreading  it  like  a  halo  rather  than  a  definite  color. 
Her  coral  lips,  when  parted  disclosed  small  even  teeth 
of  pearl-like  whiteness ;  dark  glossy  ringlets  ripple  over 
her  brow,  and  fall  over  her  shoulders,  in  a  graceful 
shower.  But  this  beauty  of  person,  is  nothing  in  com 
parison  with  the  loveliness  of  soul  that  beams  through  her 
speaking  eyes.  Tenderness"  of  heart,  with  no  traces  of 
a  strong  mind,  are  visible  in  every  action. 


54  ALDEANE. 

She  seemed  very  glad  to  see  me,  and  spoke  frequently 
of  the  pleasure  she  anticipated  in  again  pursuing  her 
favorite  study,  music.  I  asked  her  how  long  it  was 
since  she  had  left  school.  She  replied :  "  Only  three 
months.  I  am  so  glad  to  be  at  home,  though  pa  says 
that  I  know  nothing,  Miss  Guthrie.  I  don't  like  Raleigh 
at  all,  and  I  am  not  going  back  again.  I  am  sure  you 
can  teach  me  all  I  want  to  know." 

I  retired  early  to  rest,  and  greatly  fatigued  with  my 
journey  slept  well  until  morning.  I  suppose  you  are 
anxious  to  know  how  I  am  situated.  My  room  is  very 
large  and  pleasant,  handsomely  furnished,  and  its  win 
dows  command  a  fine  view  of  the  surrounding  country. 

I  stood  for  some,  time  at  the  window,  watching  the  sun 
as  it  arose  slowly  above  the  belt  of  pines  that  bounded 
the  horizon — then  tempted  by  the  cool  morning  air,  and 
the  dewy  fragrance  of  the  garden  at  my  feet,  I  descended 
and  entered  it.  It  was  a  perfect  thicket  of  roses.  Roses 
cover  the  arbors  and  border  the  walks,  sending  up  a 
cloud  of  perfume,  and  producing  a  scene  of  luxuriant 
beauty  almost  indescribable. 

I  walked  down  the  graveled  path  to  the  gate ;  then 
turned  to  look  at  the  house.  It  arose  white  and  stately 
from  almost  a  forest  of  trees — mimosas,  oaks,  maples, 
and  cedars,  the  latter  in  such  numbers  that  they  totally 
dispelled  the  idea  of  lightness  and  cheerfulness  with  which 
we  usually  conceive  Southern  houses  to  be  surrounded. 
A  wide  piazza  encircled  the  house  ;  a  variety  of  creeping 
plants  entwined  the  lattice  before  them;  the  sweet- 
scented  honeysuckle  still  was  blooming ;  but  Spring  had 
borne  away  with  her  all  other  blossoms.  The  long 
green  Venetian  blinds  were  thrown  back;  and  I  caught 
sight  of  a  room  handsomely  furnished,  with  Brussels 
carpet,  rich  brocade,  and  lace  curtains,  velvet  chairs  and 
sofas,  and  a  superb  piano.  Another  apartment  also 
opened  upon  the  piazza.  It  was  the  sitting-room  ;  look- 


ALDEANE.  55 

ing  delightfully  cool,  its  floor  covered  with  matting,  the 
windows  hung  with  green  brocade  and  lace,  a  number 
of  white  cane-ehairs  were  scattered  over  the  room.  I 
presently  saw  one  pushed  through  the  window,  and  was 
followed  by  Colonel  Arendell,  smoking,  with  an  appeai1- 
ance  of  the  most  intense  enjoyment,  a  very  long  reed 
pipe.  (I  have  discovered  that  this  pipe  is  his  constant 
companion  and  solace.)  Not  wishing  to  be  seen,  I 
turned  into  a  side  path,  bordered  by  high  rose-bushes, 
and  gained  a  little  ascent,  from  which  I  could  see,  at  the 
back  of  the  house,  a  river  flowing.  Belle,  you  know  that 
we  have  often  read  of  the  silvery  waters  of  the  South. 
I  fain  would  support  this  illusion,  but  candor  compels 
me  to  own  that  this  stream  is  narrow  and  turbid ;  the 
wide,  sand-washed  banks,  indicate  that  it  does  not  al 
ways  flow  on  in  the  same  narrow  channel,  but  occasion 
ally  bursts  forth,  flooding  the  surrounding  country  with 
its  angry  waters.  I  observed  that  at  a  short  distance 
stood  an  immense  and  wide-spreading  oak ;  indeed,  so 
tall  is  it,  that  even  in  this  region  of  forests,  it  marks  the 
place  for  miles  around.  I  soon  stood  beneath  its  shadow. 
It  crowns  a  slight  eminence,  from  whence  I  could  see  the 
dwelling-house,  the  long  row  of  negro  cabins  behind  it, 
and  catch  glimpses  of  the  sullen  river  beyond  them  all. 
It  was  a  beautiful  scene.  The  green  cornfields  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  river,  which  is  spanned  at  this  point 
by  a  slight  wooden  bridge,  waved  luxuriantly  in  the 
morning  light ;  the  laborers  had  early  begun  their  toil, 
and  with  monotonous,  yet  cheerful  songs,  were  performing 
their  tasks  ;  from  the  kitchen  to  the  house,  women  were 
hurrying  to  and  fro  in  their  bright  homespun  dresses ; 
their  black  faces  rendered  even  darker  by  contrast  with 
their  many-colored  turbans.  I  was  lost  in  contemplation 
of  the  scene,  and  conjecturing  the  many  tales  this  same 
old  oak  could  tell  me  of  the  events  that  had  taken  place 
beneath  its  shadow  if  the  voice  of  fabled  time  could  be 


56  ALDEANE. 

given  to  it,  when  I  was  aroused  by  a  child's  voice  angrily 
exclaiming : — 

"  I  will  ride  !     I'll  tell  my  mamma  of  you  !  so  I  will !" 

I  looked  up  the  path,  and  saw  a  little  girl  running 
rapidly  and  passionately  in  the  direction  in  which  I  stood, 
occasionally  stopping  to  stamp  her  feet,  and  repeat  the 
Avords  that  had  first  arrested  my  attention.  She  was 
about  four  years  old,  and  a  true  type  of  Southern  beauty, 
a  perfect  brunette  with  dark  fiery  eyes,  and  a  wild,  mirth 
ful  expression.  Her  jetty  curls,  were  thrown  back  from 
her  dark  face  and  crimson  cheeks.  She  was  dressed  in  a 
short  blue  frock,  that  was  blown  back  by  the  morning 
breeze  as  she  continued  unwittingly  and  hastily  to  ap 
proach  me.  A  negro  woman  appeared  at  the  head  of  the 
walk,  calling  loudly,  "  Oh-h  !  Miss  Jessie  !  Oh-h  !  Miss 
Jessie  !  don't  tell  your  mar,  and  I'll  give  you  a  ride  !" 

I  still  stood  beneath  the  great  oak,  and  when  the  child 
came  near  to  me,  I  stepped  forward  to  meet  her,  with  a 
cheerful  smile,  saying,  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  Who  is  it 
that  won't  let  you  ride  ?" 

She  stopped  suddenly,  much  astonished  at  my  presence  ; 
looked  up  and  down  the  path,  as  if  xincertain  which  way 
to  run ;  then  glanced  at  me  bashfully,  in  childish  confu 
sion,  twirling  her  fingers  in  her  long  curls. 

I  repeated  my  questions ;  and  with  tears  starting  to  her 
fine  eyes ;  she  replied,  "  Zettie  won't  let  me  ride ;  and  ma 
said  I  might.  Frank  and  Eddie  have  had  a  right  smart 
ride ;  and  I  want  one  too."  And  she  puckered  up  her  face 
to  keep  back  the  rising  tears. 

"  Well !  never  mind,  dear,"  I  answered,  "  we  will  go 
back,  and  see  what  can  be  done.  Tell  me  your  name, 
will  you  ?" 

"  My  name  is  Jessie  Louisa  Arendell.  Wljat  is  yours  ?" 
was  her  prompt  reply,  accompanying  the  question  with  a 
close  scrutiny  of  my  person.  "You're  the  lady  that's 
going  to  teach  us,  ain't  you  ?"  she  presently  continued. 


ALDEA  NE.  57 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  unable  wholly  to  repress  a  smile, 
"  and  my  name  is  Guthrie." 

"  Haven't  you  any  other  name  than  that  ?"  she  ex 
claimed. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  called  Aldeane  Guthrie." 

"  Well,  now,  that's  a  mighty  pretty  name  ;  prettier 
than  you  are  yourself!" 

I  was  about  to  indulge  in  a  laugh  at  her  oddity,  which 
I  could  no  longer  restrain,  when  she  exclaimed  :  "  There 
are  Frank  and  Eddy  !  Now,  Miss  Guthrie,  can't  I  have 
a  ride  ?" 

I  looked  up,  and  saw  just  before  me  two  pretty  boys, 
the  eldest  about  ten  years  old,  the  other  about  two  years 
younger.  The  largest  was  dismounting  a  small  gray 
pony,  which  was  held  by  a  negro  woman,  who  was  evi 
dently  indulging  in  a  fit  of  sulks.  The  boys  looked  at 
me  curiously,  and  replied,  "  How  d'ye  ?"  to  my  saluta 
tion. 

Turning  to  the  woman,  whom  Jessie  had  called  Zettie, 
I  said :  "  Does  Mrs.  Arendell  permit  Miss  Jessie  to 
ride  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'rm,"  was  her  muttered  response. 

"  Zettie's  mad  to-day,  and  won't  let  her,"  said  one  of 
the  boys.  "Ma  will  scold  her  well,  when  she  knows 
it,  too." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Guthrie,  can't  I  ride  !"  cried  Jessie,  again. 

"  Certainly  you  may,"  I  replied,  and  lifted  her  into  the 
saddle.  She  kissed  me  joyously,  and  the  sulky  servant 
led  the  pony  briskly  away.  I  now  made  some  progress 
toward  an  acquaintance  with  the  boys,  and  found  them 
polite  and  intelligent.  Jessie  soon  returned,  vociferously 
proclaiming  that  she  had  had  "  a  mighty  nice  ride !" 
The  breakfast-bell  sounded,  and  we  turned  toward  the 
house,  Jessie  dancing  along  beside  me,  asking  innumera 
ble  questions,  and  the  boys  following  us  very  quietly 
and  bashfully.  As  we  approached  the  house,  I  saw  Colo- 
3*" 


58  ALDEANE. 

nel  and  Mrs.  Arendell  upon  the  piazza ;  they  seemed  sur 
prised  that  I  had  arisen  so  early,  and  much  pleased  that 
I  had  already  gained  the  good- will  of  the  children. 

After  breakfast,  Colonel  Arendell  sauntered,  pipe  in 
hand,  out  to  the  fields.  "  You  see  I  have  to  work,  Miss 
Guthrie,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  My  wife  will  not  tolerate 
an  overseer,  and,  in  fact,  they  are  a  troublesome  set  of 
fellows.  I  have  no  cause  to  love  them." 

Mrs.  Arendell  and  I  repaired  to  the  sitting-room,  while 
Leonore  with  a  large  bunch  of  keys,  and  followed  by 
a  half-dozen  negro  women,  went  to  the  smoke-house  and 
store-room,  to  give  out  supplies.  "  You  see  I  am  bring 
ing  up  Leonore  quite  a  Southern  housekeeper,"  said  Mrs. 
Arendell,  "  though  every  one  says  she  has  imbibed  many 
of  my  Northern  proclivities." 

The  day  passed  very  pleasantly.  Several  ladies  called, 
and  appeared  very  pleasant  and  sociable.  The  children  are 
quite  intelligent  and  good-natured,  so  I  presume  the  task 
of  instructing  them  will  not  be  very  arduous.  I  believe 
that  I  shall  find  life  in  North  Carolina  more  pleasant  than 
you  predicted,  though  I  will  not  promise  not  to  get  home 
sick  and  return  to  you. 

This  evening,  as  I  was  standing  on  the  back  piazza, 
forming  a  wreath  from  the  sprays  of  multifloras  that 
creep  over  it,  I  saw  Jessie  apparently  working  earnestly 
at  the  well,  with  a  dipper  in  hand,  endeavoring  to  obtain 
water  from  the  bucket.  She  did  so  several  times,  and 
threw  it  on  the  ground,  at  the  same  time  drenching  her 
self  plentifully.  So  intent  was  she  upon  her  work  that 
she  did  not  observe  me  until  I  exclaimed : — 

"  Jessie,  what  are  you  doing  ?" 

"  Giving  my  frogs  water,  to  be  sure,"  she  replied,  con 
tinuing  her  exertions. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  I  inquired,  approaching  her. 

"The  frogs  are  all  thirsty  of  evenings,"  she  replied, 
"and  they  come  to  the  well  to  drink,  and  there  isn't  any 


ALDEANE.  59 

water  'round,  you  know,  so  I  always  give  'em  some. 
Here,  little  froggy,  here  !" 

I  was  exceedingly  amused,  and  answered,  "  Why  don't 
you  get  Zettie,  or  Aunt  Roxy  to  give  them  water  ?  See, 
you  are  splashing  yourself  all  over !" 

"  Oh  !  they  all  laugh  at  me,  and  say  the  frogs  can  go 
to  the  river.  But  they  don't  like  such  dirty  water ;  be 
sides,  they  don't  know  the  way  there ;  and  'twould  be  a 
heap  more  trouble  to  show  'ein  the  way  than  to  give  'em 
water  myself." 

"  It  would,  indeed,"  I  replied,  laughing.  "  But  come  ! 
they  have  plenty  of  water  now."  She  hung  up  the  dip 
per,  smoothed  down  her  wet  "  coat,"  as  she  called  her 
dress,  slipped  her  little  hand  into  mine,  and  went  witlx 
me  to  the  house.  Ma  ch&re,  do  you  not  think  I  have  an 
oddity  for  a  pupil  ?  Yet,  I  assure  you,  I  am  charmed 
with  her,  as  with  every  other  person  and  thing  here. 

And  now  I  must  stop;  not  because  I  have  nothing 
moi*e  to  say,  or  because  I  will  pretend  to  fear  that  you 
will  be  weary  of  this  letter,  which  already  exceeds  all  rea 
sonable  length,  but  because  I  have  still  to  write  to  dear 
Arthur,  of  whom  I  expect  a  full  account  when  you  write. 

With  dearest  love  to  him,  your  papa,  and  yourself, 
I  remain  ever 

Your  affectionate 

AI/DEANE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A   SLIGHT  MYSTERY. 

THE  first  Sunday  after  Aldeane  arrived  at  Arendell 
House — as  her  new  residence  Avas  familiarly  called — she 
accompanied  the  family  to  a  camp-meeting  which  was 
held  in  a  grove  some  miles  distant.  Here,  in  the  scene 
of  confusion  incident  to  the  occasion,  was  shown  to  her 
the  class  of  people  among  which  she  was  thrown.  The 
.  highest  and  lowest  grades  of  society — the  aristocrats  and 
the  slaves — with  the  only  intermediate  one,  the  poor 
whites — were  amply  represented ;  and  she  learned,  in 
three  hours,  more  of  their  characteristics  than  she  could 
have  hoped,  in  ordinary  intercourse,  to  do  in  as  many 
months. 

Upon  the  whole,  she  was  pleased,  although  she  was 
somewhat  shocked  at  witnessing  so  boisterous  and  excit 
ing  a  scene  where  the  people  were  gathered  together  for 
religious  exercises ;  but  when  she  discovered  that  the 
laughing  and  shouting  and  crying  was  so  far  from  irrev 
erence  that  they  were  considered  an  important  part  of 
those  exercises,  she  could  look  upon  them  with  some  de 
gree  of  toleration,  and  find  a  curious  admiration  for  the 
excessive  fervor,  that  had  to  her  such  unseemly  time  and 
place  of  expression. 

Upon  the  conclusion  of  the  services,  Aldeane  was  intro 
duced  to  a  number  of  people  who  exchanged  greetings 
with  the  Arendells,  and  awakened  so  much  interest  and 
attention,  especially  from  the  young  gentlemen,  that  she 


ALDEANE.  61 

was  quite  relieved  to  hear  Mrs.  Arendell  say,  in  answer 
to  a  question  from  some  one  near : — 

"  No,  we  shall  not  stay  for  the  next  services ;  we  have 
so  far  to  go,  you  know.  Good-bye !  Colonel  Arendell, 
please  take  Miss  Guthrie  and  Jessie  in  your  carriage,  the 
rest  of  the  children  will  return  with  me." 

He  bowed,  and  assisted  Aldeane  into  the  carriage; 
then  lifted  in  Jessie,  who  declared  that  she  was  "  tired  to 
death,"  and  finally  sprang  in  himself,  and  they  soon  left  the 
ground,  proceeding  for  some  time  in  silence.  Jessie  had 
fallen  asleep,  and  Aldeane  was  absorbed  in  thoughts  of 
the  scene  she  had  just  witnessed,  when  she  was  aroused 
by  the  remark  of  Colonel  Arendell : — 

"  That  must  be  a  strange  scene  to  one  who  has  never 
been  in  North  Carolina  or  the  South  before." 

"  Or  even  to  me  that  has,  sir,"  she  answered.  "  I  was 
born  in  this  State,  but  remember  nothing  of  it," 

"  Indeed !"  he  exclaimed,  seeming  to  be  much  sur 
prised,  while  the  color  rushed  to  his  face.  "In  what 
county  ?" 

She  mentioned  it. 

"  Ah !  yes,  she  lived  there !"  he  muttered.  Then  asked, 
"  When  did  you  leave  this  State  ?'? 

"  When  I  was  abovit  a  year  old." 

"  And  your  mother's  name,  before  marriage,  was — " 

"  Ellen  Deane,  sir." 

"  Yes,  yes.     Have  you  any  brothers  ?" 

"One.     Arthur." 

"Will  you  favor  me  by  letting  me  know  your  given 
name  ?" 

"  Certainly  !     It  is  Aldeane." 

"  Al — deane !"  he  reiterated,  rising  from  his  seat  in  the 
carriage,  as  if  in  the  greatest  alarm  and  astonishment. 
"Al — deane!  Whom  were  you  called  after?  It  is  a 
strange  name." 

Aldeane  was  half  frightened  at  his  vehemence.     She 


62  ALDEANE. 

saw  that  he  had  heard  the  name  before,  but  replied  as 
calmly  as  possible. 

"  I  once  asked  my  mother  the  same  question  that  you 
have  put  to  me,  sir,  and  she  said,  '  After  my  sister 
Alice,  who  before  her  marriage  was  almost  always  called 
Al  Deane,  to  distinguish  her  from  a  cousin  of  the  same 
name.'  I  was  about  to  ask  more  concerning  my  aunt  when 
my  mother  left  the  room,  as  if  wishing  to  shun  further 
inquiry,  and  after  that  I  never  had  an  opportunity  of 
making  any." 

"  Then  it  is  your  mother's  death  you  mourn !"  he  said, 
glancing  at  her  black  dress,  with,  Aldeane  thought,  a 
relieved  expression. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

For  the  time  he  remained  silent,  apparently  absorbed 
in  painful  thought.  Aldeane  looked  at  him  with  wonder, 
and  curiosity ;  his  conduct  was  to  her  inexplicable.  At 
last  she  inquired : 

"  Did  you  know  this  Alice  Deane,  sir  ?" 

He  started  as  if  the  name  had  been  an  adder,  and  had 
stung  him,  and  looking  at  her  with  an  expression  she 
could  never  forget,  said : — 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?     Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead  !" 

"  So  Alice  Deane  is  dead !"  continued  Aldeane,  unheed 
ing  his  question,  or  the  remai'k  that  had  followed  it,  for 
she  felt  positive  that  he  had  once  known  her. 

"  Yes,"  he  returned  looking  at  her  as  if  fascinated. 
"Yes,  yes,  she  is  dead!  She  died  young.  She  was 
scarcely  your  age,  young  lady." 

She  was  about  to  ask  more  concerning  her  aunt  when 
the  carriage  stopped  before  the  gate  of  Arendell  House. 
Colonel  Arendell  silently  assisted  Aldeane  to  alight, 
placed  the  still  sleeping  Jessie  in  her  arms,  and  turned 
into  a  narrow  and  shaded  path,  as  if  anxious  to  be 
alone. 

Aldeane  was  greatly  perplexed  by  his  conduct.     The 


ALDEANE.  63 

only  solution  of  the  mystery  that  she  could  frame  was, 
that  he  had  once  loved  Alice  Deane,  and  that  some 
tragical  event  had  caused  her  death.  Yet  even  this  was 
scarcely  sufficient  to  explain  his  violent  agitation,  and 
Mrs.  Nevins'  evident  distress  at  the  mention  of  her  name. 

Aldeane  decided  to  question  Colonel  Arendell  upon  the 
subject  as  soon,  and  as  closely,  as  possible.  The  autumn, 
and  winter  passed,  and  spring  had  cast  her  vernal  offer 
ings  over  earth,  before  Aldeane  found  an  opportunity  to 
make  further  inquiries  of  him  concerning  her  relative. 
He  avoided  any  allusion  to  the  subject,  and  much  to  her 
dissatisfaction  she  still  remained  in  the  same  state  of 
mystery  and  uncertainty  into  which  his  first  conversation 
had  thrown  her. 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  of  a  day  in  early  April  that 
she  found  herself  alone  with  him,  and  thought  of  the 
subject  that  had  so  long  perplexed  her,  and  as  he  was  in 
a  genial,  talkative  mood,  she  hoped  to  elicit  some  true 
and  interesting  information  from  him,  so  she  turned 
toward  him  with  the  inquiry : — 

"  Colonel  Arendell,  will  you  not  tell  me  something 
about  my  aunt  Alice  ?" 

He  looked  up  quickly  with  an  expression  of  pain  and 
alarm.  "  Why  do  you  ask,  child  ?  Let  the  dead  rest," 
he  said  bitterly. 

For  a  moment  Aldeane  was  silent.  "  I  ask,"  she  said 
at  length,  "  because  a  mystery  has  always  enshrouded 
her.  Colonel  Arendell,  did  you  know  her  well  ?" 

His  face  was  pale,  and  his  hand  trembled,  as  he  re 
moved  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  emitted  a  cloud  of 
smoke.  He  watched  it  as  it  curled  gracefully  upward, 
and  said  slowly :  "  Yes,  I  knew  her.  The  family  were  in 
moderate  circumstances,  and  she  was  much  admired  for 
her  beauty.  I  have  sometimes  thought  your  expression 
is  like  hers,  otherwise  you  more  closely  resemble  your 
father." 


6i  ALDEANE. 

"  Oh,  sir  !  you  must  have  forgotten  him,"  returned 
Aldeane.  "  I  have  heard  that  Arthur  is  a  perfect  like 
ness  of  him,  and  he  is  very  dark  and  handsome — a  perfect 
contrast  to  me.  You  must  forget !" 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  do,"  he  answered  testily.. 

Aldeane,  in  no  degree  discouraged,  continued :  "  Was 
Aunt  Alice  ever  married  ?  Did  she  die  regretted  ?" 

Colonel  Arendell  was  again  watching  the  progress  of 
the  smoke  as  it  rose  from  his  lips,  and  Aldeane  awaiting 
a  reply,  when  a  shadow  darkened  the  window,  and  glan 
cing  up  Aldeane  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  figure  of  a 
gentleman  who  was  no  unfrequent  visitor,  although 
evidently  no  very  welcome  one. 

Before  she  could  leave  the  room,  as  she  had  every 
desire  to  do,  for  she  had  an  instinctive  and  unconquerable 
dislike  of  him,  he  was  standing  at  the  door,  bowing  and 
smiling  most  graciously. 

This  man  was  not  unhandsome  or  ungainly,  yet  he 
carried  himself  as  if  he  possessed  a  painful  consciousness 
of  being  both.  This  perhaps  it  was  in  conjunction  with 
his  exceeding  fondness  of  flashy  dress  and  ornament,  that 
proved  at  once  that  he  was  not  a  gentleman,  though  he 
claimed  the  name,  and  held  the  position  of  one. 

Aldeane  had  more  reasons  than  her  eyes  gave  her  for 
avoiding  this  man ;  for,  although  he  was  old  enough  to 
be  her  father,  he  had  followed  her  with  covert,  yet  most 
eager  admiration,  since  their  first  meeting. 

This  day,  however,  it  proved  that  she  had  no  need  to 
avoid  him,  for  he  had  called  but  for  a  moment,  he  said, 
to  have  a  word  upon  business  with  Colonel  Arendell. 
This  word  he  had,  and  then,  with  a  bow  to  Aldeane, 
departed. 

On  his  way  out  he  met  Leonore,  who,  with  a  cold 
"  Good-morning,"  waited  for  him  to  pass  by  her,  and 
then,  lounging  into  the  room  in  her  usual  idle  way,  in 
quired  : — 


ALDEANE.  65 

"  When  is  Cousin  Richard  going  to  redeem  his  prom 
ise,  papa,  and  relieve  us  of  the  sight  of  his  scowling 
face  ?" 

Aldeane  thought  she  should  rather  have  said  "  sinister 
smiling  face,"  but  she  said  nothing,  and  awaited  Colonel 
Arendell's  reply,  which  was  not  uttered  immediately,  but 
with  slow  and  grave  reproof. 

"  You  should  not  speak  in  that  manner  of  your  cousin, 
Nora.  Where  have  you  learned  to  do  it  ?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  tossed  her  pretty 
head  willfully.  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  where  I  learned 
to  dislike  Cousin  Richard,  pa — what  a  hateful  way  we 
have  here  of  calling  even  our  most  distant  relatives 
cousins — but  this  I  do  know,  that  I  do  dislike  him  as 
thoroughly  even  as  mamma  does,  and  you  know  she  never 
would  let  you  rest,  until  he  was  off  the  plantation." 

"  Leonore,"  said  her  father,  flushing  slightly,  "I  shall  be 
obliged  to  be  angry  with  you  if  you  say  any  thing  more 
of  Blake." 

"  Because  you  know  I  can  say  nothing  good  ?"  she  ques 
tioned  laughingly. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  frown,  perhaps  almost  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life.  •  "  Oh  dear,  papa,  don't  be  angry 
with  me,"  she  cried,  writh  an  instant  change  from  her 
mirthful,  childish  manner,  to  one  of  womanly  grief  and 
sorrow.  "  Indeed,  papa,  I'll  never  say  any  thing  hateful 
of  Cousin  Richard  again.  But  I'm  sure  I  didn't  know 
you  liked  him  so." 

"  Like  him  ?"  he  said,  moodily ;  "  who  does  like  him  ? 
But  he  was  your  mother's  cousin,  Leonore,  and  for  years 
my  overseer ;  it  hardly  becomes  us  to  speak  ill  of  him." 

"  Oh,  as  to  speaking  ill  of  him,"  returned  Leonore,  with 
a  little  pout,  "  one  would  not  wish  to  do  that  of  one's  own 
relations.  But  I'm  sure,  papa,  when  he  was  your  over 
seer,  there  was  more  whipping  done  in  a  month,  than  in 
the  whole  ten  years  since." 


Gt>  ALDEANE. 

"  You  have  an  excellent  memory,  Nora,"  said  her 
father,  and  then  turning  to  Aldeane,  said,  in  an  explana 
tory  way  :  "  Blake  was  in  truth  a  hard  master ;.  I  used  to 
object  in  my  own  mind  very  much ;  but  what  is  the  use 
of  keeping  an  overseer,  if  one  looks  to  the  work,  or  worries 
over  the  punishment  ?  Of  course,  I  let  Blake  have  his 
own  way,  as  every  proprietor  should.  He  had  his  own 
way — a  pretty  rough  way,  I  am  inclined  to  think  now — • 
until  I  brought  Ida  to  my  home.  She  immediately  con 
ceived  a  great  dislike  to  him,  and  wished  me  to  dismiss 
him.  I,  however,  was  under  some  trifling  obligations  to 
him,  and  could  not  do  so  immediately.  He  obligingly 
proposed,  on  a  few  conditions,  to  free  me  of  his  presence. 
A  short  time  after  leaving  me,  be  commenced  speculating 
in  slaves,  and  I  believe  has  done  very  well." 

"  What  obligations  were  you  under  to  him,  papa  ?"  in 
quired  Leonore. 

His  face  flushed  darkly,  as  he  replied :  "  One  is  always 
under  obligations  to  those  who  serve  him,  my  dear ;  you 
would  not  understand  me,  Leonore,  if  I  should  explain. 
It  is  merely  business  matters,  nothing  more." 

Aldeane  could  not  reconcile  the  words  with  the  dark, 
almost  remorseful  expression,  that  remained  upon  his  face 
during  the  remainder  of  the  drive.  The  Arendells,  as 
well  as  other  families,  undoubtedly  possessed  secrets,  and 
Mr.  Blake  might  be  privy  to  them  ;  she  was  merely,  how 
ever,  a  dependent  in  the  family,  and,  therefore,  had  no 
right  to  peer  into  any  of  its  mysteries.  She  was  indeed 
treated  by  all  as  a  beloved  friend  and  equal.  Arendell 
House  had  become  to  her  a  pleasant  home,  though  occa- 
^sionally  events  would  transpire  to  mar  her  calm  enjoy 
ments.  Jessie  was  willful,  Frank  passionate,  and  Eddie 
dull  and  stubborn.  They  were  all  affectionate,  and  she 
liked  them  well,  yet  they  very  often  annoyed  and  grieved 
her.  Leonore  was  always  gentle  and  tractable,  and  had 
made  great  progress  in  her  studies.  Altogether  Aldeane's 


ALDEANE. 


67 


position  was  a  pleasant  one.  Frequent  letters  from  Belle, 
and  many  friends  in  Boston,  prevented  homesickness. 
Colonel  Arendell  seemed  to  entertain  a  strong  affection 
for  her,  and  to  Mrs.  Arendell  she  had  become  a  much 
valued  friend.  Thus,  after  a  residence  of  eight  months  in 
the  family,  she  had  rendered  herself  valued  and  beloved 
by  all. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

. 

GEASSMERE. 

ONE  beautiful  morning  in  May,  when  the  full  luxuriance 
of  spring  had  clothed  the  earth  in  beauty,  and  when  Al- 
deaue  was  reminded,  with  feelings  akin  to  homesickness, 
of  the  only  place  where  she  ever  had  before  truly  enjoyed 
the  beauties  of  nature,  that  paradise  of  her  childhood,  Rose 
Cottage,  and  wondered  if  there  could  be  another  spot  so 
lovely.  Colonel  Arendell  said  suddenly,  as  they  were 
seated  at  the  breakfast-table,  "  It  is  your  birthday  to 
morrow,  is  it  not,  Miss  Guthrie  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Aldeane,  "  biit  how  did  you  dis 
cover  it  ?  I  am  sure  I  have  told  no  one  !" 

"  I  must  have  learnt  it  from  some  one,"  returned  the 
Colonel,  a  confused  expression  passing  over  his  counte 
nance,  "  for  you  see  I  know  it.  Let  me  see,  you  will  be 
eighteen." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Aldeane,  still  more  surprised,  for 
she  had  supposed  the  family  considered  her  older. 

"  Oh,  I  know  how  pa  found  it  out,"  cried  Frank ;  "  you 
have  a  volume  of  poems,  Miss  Guthrie,  with  your  name, 
and  the  date  of  your  seventeenth  birthday,  written  on 
the  fly-leaf!  It  was  given  to  you  by  Miss  Ashton." 

"  Yes,  oh  yes !  That  must  have  been  the  way,"  re 
turned  Colonel  Arendell,  laughing ;  glad  of  the  oppor 
tunity  to  equivocate.  "  But,  Frank,  you  seem  to  have 
learned  the  lesson,  as  well  as  I  did." 

"  Well !"  said  Frank,  coloring,  u  'twas  such  pretty 
writing,  and  besides  Miss  Guthrie  showed  me  Miss  Ash- 


ALDEANE.  69 

ton's  likeness ;  and  she  is  the  prettiest  young  lady  I  ever 
saw.  Oh !  she  is  a  beauty !" 

"  Yes,"  chimed  in  Jessie,  "  she's  a  heap  prettier  than 
Miss  Aldeane,  for  she's  got  .curls  and  blue  eyes." 

"  No  comments,  my  dear,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Arendell, 
"  Miss  Guthrie  may  not  like  them.  Her  brown  eyes  are 
as  pretty  as  Miss  Ashton's  blue,  if  you  would  only  think 
so." 

"  No,  they  ain't ;  and  Miss  Guthrie's  mouth  is  as  big 
again  as  Miss  Ashton's,"  returned  Jessie,  shaking  her 
head  willfully ;  "  and  she's  mighty  good  too,  for  Miss 
Aldeane  told  me  so,  and  I  want  to  see  her !" 

"  Well !  my  child,"  said  the  colonel,  "  I'm  afraid 
your  desire  will  not  soon  be  gratified.  But  we  were 
speaking  of  your  birthday,  Miss  Guthrie ;  we  must  honor 
it.  What  do  you  say  to  a  visit  to  Grassmere  ?" 

Aldeane  had  often  heard  this  place  spoken  of  as  an 
estate  belonging  to  Colonel  Arendell,  some  twelve  miles 
distant;  which  was  always  represented  as  exceedingly 
beautiful  and  attractive.  So,  although  she  said  nothing, 
she  inwardly  hoped  the  proposition  would  meet  with 
favor.  It  seemed  to,  at  least  from  Jessie,  who  ex 
claimed  : — 

"  Oh,  yes !  let  us  go  to  Grassmere !  The  apples  and 
plums  are  getting  ripe  there.  Uncle  Adam  told  me 
so!" 

"  What  do  you  say  to  it,  Ida  ?"  queried  Colonel  Aren 
dell.  "  I  know  you  would  like  to  go,  Miss  Guthrie  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  sir !" 

"  Well,  then,  by  all  means  let  us  go.  It  is  a  very 
pleasant  place,"  said  Mrs.  Arendell. 

"  Hurrah,  for  Grassmere  !"  shouted  Frank,  dashing  out 
of  the  room,  to  indulge  more  freely  in  his  exclamations 
of  joy  and  triumph:  while  Eddie  secretly  thought  of 
the  promised  respite  from  books  with  the  greatest  de 
light. 


70  ALDEANE. 

All  entered  into  the  plan  with  enthusiasm.  So  it  was 
decided  that  they  would  go. 

The  next  morning  at  dawn,  Jessie  entered  Aldeane's 
room,  bringing  a  little  book-mark,  which  under  Leonore's 
tuition  she  had  worked ;  her  fingers  were  still  sore  from 
the  pricks  they  had  received. 

Upon  her  descent  to  the  piazza,  the  boys  presented 
her  with  two  beautiful  bouquets,  sparkling  with  dew. 
Frank  vainly  endeavored  to  press  upon  her  acceptance 
his  new  riding-whip,  while  Eddie  brought  her  the  new 
"  Reader "  he  had  lately  commenced,  and  assured  her 
that  he  should  be  most  happy  to  give  it  to  her,  if  she 
would  only  keep  it  ont  of  his  sight.  Leonore  presented 
her  with  a  set  of  jet  jewelry,  and  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Aren- 
dell  with  something  still  more  valuable,  in  the  form  of  a 
chain  for  her  watch.  Aldeane  rejoiced  at  receiving  .these 
presents,  not  because  of  their  intrinsic  worth,  but  that 
they  Avere  assurances  of  the  love  and  esteem  of  those  she 
was  most  desirous  to  please. 

At  an  early  hour  the  carriage,  and  the  ponies  for 
Frank  and  Eddie,  were  at  the  gate.  The  boys  were 
mounted  long  before  the  rest  of  the  party  were  ready  to 
start,  and  were  prancing  up  and  down  the  gravel  walks 
laughing,  shouting,  making  themselves  greatly  in  the 
way,  and  intensely  annoying. 

Aunt  Roxy  placed  a  bountiful  supply  of  provisions  in 
the  carriage,  exclaiming,  "Ugh!  it's  no  use  trustin'  to 
dem  ar  niggers,  they're  just  sure  not  to  give  yer  any 
thin'  but  flap-jacks  an'  pone,  an'  may  be  a  bit  of  fried 
chicken.  Hefe's«de  good  things  right  in  dis  basket ! 
N"ow  you,  Jule,  don't  you  go  hookin'  the  cakes,  and  you 
Adam,  jest  as  shua  as  you  tech  one  drop  of  that  wine,  I 
hope  'twill  pisen  yer !  That's  sartain  !" 

Colonel  Arendell  and  the  ladies,  to  the  great  joy  of  the 
boys,  were  at  last  seated  in  the  carriage,  and  they  were 
soon  en  route  for  Grassmere.  A  pleasant  drive  of  about 


ALDEANE.  71 

two  hours  brought  them  to  their  destination.  The  house 
was  somewhat  ancient ;  but  much  larger  and  handsomer 
than  that  at  Arendell.  The  view  presented  from  the. 
road  was  pleasing.  A  large,  irregularly  built  white 
house,  with  numerous  piazzas,  and  long  windows  shaded 
by  green  blinds,  standing  in  a  grove  of  immense  oak- 
trees  ;  with  an  extensive  garden  containing  flowers  of 
every  hue,  sloping  gently  down  to  the  road.  The  fences 
were  covered  with  climbing  roses  and  jasmine ;  and  on 
each  side  of  the  house  stood  an  arbor,  adorned  with  the 
name  aromatic  luxuriance.  But  that  which  most  attracted 
Aldeane's  notice  was,  what  had  once  been  a  beautiful 
summer-house.  It  was  built  of  logs  covered  with  bark, 
and  had  evidently  been  handsome  and  curious.  It  was  now 
a  ruin.  The«  roof  was  broken  in  many  places ;  the  posts 
had  fallen  away,  and  it  stood  a  relic  of  former  days, 
over  Avhich  time  had  cast  a  mantle  of  decay ;  a  strange 
object  amid  the  vernal  bloom  and  freshness  that  sur 
rounded  it.  A  wild  trumpet-vine  had  essayed  to  hide 
its  decline  in  its  garniture  of  beauty,  and  had  partially 
succeeded.  It  had  crept  over  the  walls  and  roof,  leaving, 
however,  parts  of  the  rough  bark  visible,  which  looked 
out  grimly  from  the  verdant  framing.  Pendants  of  the 
vine,  floated  upon  the  air,  and  drooped  within  the  house 
from  apertm-es  in  the  roof.  It  was  a  beautiful  object, 
but  totally  incompatible  with  those  surrounding  it. 

The  housekeeper — a  little  thin,  nervous  mulatto  wom 
an — with  a  troop  of  little  negroes,  met  them  at  the  gate, 
seemingly  overjoyed  at  their  unexpected  arrival. 

"  Here,  you  Jube  and  Andy  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  whar's 
your  manners  ?  Take  your  young  mass'rs'  horses.  I  'clar 
for't,  if  you  don't  move  a  leetle  faster  I'll  pull  all  de  wool 
off  dem  thick  heads  o'  yourn  !  Lor',  leetle  missie,"  as  she 
lifted  Jessie  out  of  the  carriage,  "how  yer  has  grown 
since  yer  old  Aunt  Samiry  seed  ye  last !  I'm  right  glad 
ter  see  yer,  Mass'r  John  an'  Miss  Idy,  and  Miss  Nora. 


72  ALDEANE. 

De  house  is  fit  for  yer  to  walk  right  inter,  just  the  same 
as  if  I  knowd  you  was  a  comin'." 

Aunt  Samira  stopped  her  volubility,  having  exhausted 
her  breath,  and  Mrs.  Arendell  replied  to  her  greeting,  and 
those  of  the  other  servants,  as  she  led  the  way  to  the  par 
lor,  a  large,  handsome  room,  well  furnished,  but,  after  the 
manner  of  a  past  age,  every  thing  was  dark,  heavy,  and 
substantial.  The  children  soon  went  out  to  go  with  the 
negroes  in  search  of  ripe  fruit ;  and  after  the  ladies  had 
rested,  Colonel  Arendell  said  : — 

"  Ida,  I  am  going  to  show  Miss  Guthrie  over  the  house. 
Will  you  come  with  us  ?" 

"  Spare  me  the  infliction  !"  replied  Mrs.  Arendell,  laugh 
ing.  "  It  is  too  warm  for  such  exercise.  Leonore  and  I  will 
look  around  Aunt  Samira's  domains  while  you  are  gone." 

"  Come,  then,  Miss  Guthrie.  I  don't  think  you  will  find 
it  very  fatiguing  !"  said  the  colonel,  as  he  led  the  way  up 
stairs.  "  There  are  some  curious  things  in  this  old  house, 
at  least  so  they  seem  to  me.  It  is  the  house  in  which 
my  parents  lived  and  died.  This  is  the  room  they  usu 
ally  occupied,  and  their  shadows  do  so  still.  Don't  shud 
der.  I  do  not  mean  their  ghosts — but  merely  their  por 
traits,  which  are  lifelike." 

The  room  was  large,  and  well  but  gloomily  furnished. 
A  high-posted  bedstead,  with  crimson  curtains,  stood  in 
one  corner,  and  between  the  windows  a  large  old-fash 
ioned  bureau.  High-backed  chairs,  grim  and  black  with 
age,  were  scattered  about  the  room ;  above  the  mantel 
piece,  which  was  very  long  and  low,  hung  two  oil-paint 
ings — the  portraits  of  the  departed  owners.  Mr.  Aren 
dell  appeared  to  be  about  of  the  same  age  as  the  son  who 
was  now  contemplating  him ;  possessing,  too,  in  a  great 
degree,  the  same  physiognomy  ;  the  same  calm  gray  eyes, 
the  same  high  forehead  and  light,  wavy  hair;  but  the 
firm,  sternly-set  mouth,  which  gave  so  much  expression 
to  the  countenance  of  the  father,  was  wanting  in  that  of 


ALDEANE.  73 

'  the  son.  From  his  mother,  Aldeane  perceived  that  the 
colonel  had  derived  that  feature,  whose  very  form  be 
trayed  a  vacillating  mind.  Brilliant  conceptions  and 
high  resolves  were  written  clearly  in  the  speaking  eyes 
and  open  brow :  but  the  languor  and  indecision  that 
rested  on  the  face  of  the  portrayed  mother  had  been 
largely  conveyed  to  that  of  her  son.  It  was  a  pleasant, 
pretty  face  that  looked  down  upon  them,  but  totally 
devoid  of  any  expression  of  firmness  or  endurance. 

A  long  and  interesting  survey  of  many  other  rooms  of 
the  old  house  was  almost  completed,  when  Colonel  Aren- 
dell  ushered  Aldeane  into  an  apartment  furnished  in  a 
more  modern  style  than  any  she  had  seen.  Numerous  orna 
ments  were  scattered  about  the  room ;  a  piano  stood  in 
one  corner,  and  a  guitar  hung  above  it.  Colonel  Aren- 
dell  asked  Aldeane  to  play.  She  tried  both  instruments, 
but  they  were  sadly  out  of  tune. 

"  No  wonder,"  he  remarked,  "  they  have  not  been 
touched  for  nearly  twenty  years.  The  hand  that  used  to 
draw  sweet  music  from  them  has  for  long,  long  years  been 
cold  in  death." 

"  Indeed !  Did  you  ever  live  here,  Colonel  Arendell  ? 
1  mean,  of  course,  since  you  have  become  a  man." 

"  No ;  never  since  I  have  been  married.  My  first  wife 
was  very  anxious  to  remove  hither,  but  I  strongly  ob 
jected.  The  place  is  fraught  with  too  many  bitter  recol 
lections.  Ah  !  Miss  Guthrie,  I  am  suffering  here  to-day." 

Aldeane  glanced  at  him  in  surprise.  His  lips  were 
compressed,  and  his  face  distorted,  as  if  by  acute  pain. 
"  Let  us  leave  it,  then  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  know  there 
must  be  some  deep  sorrow  buried  within  these  walls  that 
still  lives  for  you.  Come,  sir,  do  not  stay !  I  entreat !" 

"  Yes,  yes  !    We  will  look  at  this  room  before  we  go  !" 
he  replied,  preceding  her  into  a  room  of  the  same  dimen 
sions,  and  which  was  evidently  a  library.     It  was  richly 
furnished,  and  well  supplied  with  books.     A  small  iron 
4 


74:  ALDEANE. 

safe  occupied  a  space  between  two  book-shelves ;  upon  it 
stood  a  portfolio  full  of  papers. 

"  Here,  in  this  room,"  said  Colonel  Arendell,  tl  was  the 
foulest  disgrace,  openly  branded  upon  my  family.  Oh  ! 
William,  William !  I  believed  you  guilty  then !  'Twould 
almost  be  a  comfort  to  believe  it  still." 

Aldeane  was  distressed  at  the  tone  of  despair,  and  the 
remorseful  manner  in  which  these  words  were  spoken. 
Looking  up,  Colonel  Arendell  read  these  emotions  in  her 
face.  "  We  will  go  now,  Miss  Guthrie,"  he  said.  "  Do 
not  be  frightened,  child.  To  yoii  I  speak  in  enigmas. 
Well !  'tis  better  so.  You  do  not  now  understand  me, 
but  you  will  at  some  time.  Yes,  yes !" 

He  arose  and  paced  the  apartment  excitedly,  while 
Aldeane  regarded  him  with  perplexed  and  sorrowful 
looks.  At  length  she  said,  "  Come,  sir !  let  us  not  stay 
here  longer !  The  very  air  seems  chilled !  I  can  not 
dwell  with  mysteries.  Come.  Do  come  away !  Let  us 
go  where  there  is  sunlight  and  air." 

"  Yes,  we  will  go  now.  The  mystery  will  be  unraveled 
at  some  time,  my  child.  Do  not  speak  of  this  before  my 
family ;  I  am  always  calm  before  them ;  but  a  visit  to 
this  place  always  unnerves  me."  He  passed  his  hand 
over  his  face;  Aldeane  noticed  that  it  was  white  and 
trembling.  She  was  deeply  affected  by  his  emotion,  and 
thought  "there  must  indeed  be  some  great  cause  to 
to  produce  so  strange  an  eifect  upon  one  who  possesses 
so  gay  and  careless  a  temperament  as  he  always 
exhibits." 

They  left  the  room,  and  with  a  feeling  of  relief  Al 
deane  issued  from  the  gloomy  place,  yet  with  a  thrill  of 
terror,  that  prompted  her  to  look  back  as  she  crossed  the 
threshold.  Colonel  Arendell  noticed  it,  and  taking  her 
hand  led  her  down  the  stairs,  saying ;  "  Your  face  is 
blanched,  and  your  hands  are  cold  with  horror  at  my 
mysteries.  This  is  needless.  Call  back  color  and 


ALDEANE.  75 

warmth,   and    let   nothing   trouble   you.     You   are  too 
young  for  that  yet." 

She  was  glad  when  they  joined  Mrs.  Arendell  and  the 
children  upon  the  piazza.  The  sunlight  was  cheering,  and 
the  sight  of  other  faces  pleasant,  after  the  gloomy  scene 
up-stairs. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Arendell; 
"  you  both  look  as  if  you  had  seen  ghosts.  Has  John  been 
telling  you  some  dreadful  legend,  Miss  Guthrie  ?  I 
remember  that  the  first  time  I  came  here  he  thought 
proper  to  turn  pale  in  one  of  the  rooms,  and  when  I  asked 
the  reason,  and  insisted  upon  knowing  it,  he  told  me  the 
most  dreadful  story  concerning  it — oh !  ten  times  more 
horrible  than  any  ghost  story  I  ever  heard,  and  so  in  two 
or  three  other  chambers,  until  I  became  perfectly  horri 
fied  ;  and  I  believe  he  was  himself  actually  frightened  at 
his  own  mendacity.  Well !  I  asked  Aunt  Samira  if  any 
of  his  tales  were  true,  and  none  of  them  were.  They 
were  mere  fictions  invented  on  the  spot  I  suppose ;  but 
though  he  goes  through  with  his  old  tricks  he  has  never 
been  able  to  frighten  me  once." 

Aunt  Samira,  appeared  at  the  end  of  the  piazza  and 
announced  dinner.  They  went  to  the  dining-room, 
where  they  found  the  table  bountifully  spread.  Aunt 
Roxy's  care  seemed  to  have  been  expended  in  vain,  and 
indeed  it  had  been,  for  when  the  baskets  of  edibles  had 
been  brought  in,  Samira  scornfully  surveyed  each  article 
as  it  was  unpacked,  and  at  last  observed :  "  Well !  now,  I 
do  wonder,  if  dat  ole  fool  Roxanny  'spected  me  to  put 
dat  ar  trash  before  white  quality  ?  I  reckon  not.  Here 
you  Sal, — "  making  a  dash  at  a  little  black,  who  was 
nefariously  abstracting  tarts  from  a  basket, — "  you  jist  let 
them  be,  an'  go  hunt  eggs,  an'  Betty  you  make  up  a 
fire,  quicker  'n  lightnin'.  Dy'e  hear?" 

So  Jule  appropriated  as  much  of  the  cake  as  he  desired 
to  his  own  use,   and   distributed  the  rest  among   the 


76  ALDEANE. 

children,  while  Uncle  Adam  refreshed  himself  with  a 
glass  of  wine  and  some  cold  chicken. 

Dinner  was  at  last  concluded,  and  after  numerous 
toasts  to  Aldeane's  health  and  prosperity  had  been 
drunk;  all  prepared  for  a  ramble  over  the  grounds. 
They  proved  to  be  very  beautiful  and  extensive.  Colonel 
Arendell  and  Aldeane  were  walking  together ;  they 
reached  the  vine-o'ergrown  ai'bor.  Within  was  a  crum 
bling  seat ;  she  entered  and  sat  down  ;  the  colonel  stood 
before  her.  She  instinctively  felt  that  he  alone  could  tell 
the  history  of  the  old  place ;  therefore  she  said : — 

"  Why  have  you  suffered  this  place  to  decay,  Colonel 
Arendell,  when  you  have  kept  all  surrounding  it  in  such 
excellent  repair  ?  Do  you  fancy  this  wild  beauty  ?" 

"  Somewhat,"  he  replied,  glancing  back.  His  wife  and 
Leonore  were  discussing  some  household  matter,  with 
Aunt  Samira,  near  the  house ;  the  children  were  playing 
at  some  distance.  "  I  do  not  let  this  ruin  stand  for  that 
alone,"  he  continued ;  "  but  because  I  can  not  find  it  in 
my  heart  to  pull  down  this  ancient  arbor,  in  which  I  so 
often  played  in  childhood.  Neither  will  I  assist  it  to 
remain,  since  here  was  passed  the  bitterest  moments  of 
my  life.  This  spot  is  intimately  associated  with  memo 
ries  of  one,  whom  I  have  not  seen  for  years.  We  parted 
in  anger,  but  we  had  loved  in  childhood,  and  even  now 
my  heart  is  bursting  with  the  memory  and  reality  of 
love.  Remorse,  too,  for  a  deed  done  by  the  instigation 
of  one  who  should  have  led  me  from  all  evil,  is  eating 
my  heart  away." 

"And  can  you  not  repair  that  evil?"  questioned 
Aldeane. 

"Not  now!  not  now!  Why  do  you  ask  me?"  he 
replied,  fiercely  smiting  his  forehead  with  his  open  hand. 
"  But  it  shall  be  done,"  he  continued  more  gently.  "  Soon, 
soon !  But  not  now.  I  can  not  do  it  now,  my  child. 
You  have  seen  me  in  my  true  character  to-day,  a  creature 


ALDEANE.  77 

of  passionate  impulses,  and  morbid  feelings.  They," 
nodding  toward  his  wife  and  children,  "  know  me  only 
in  dissemblement.  But  do  not  let  my  words  or  actions 
mar  your  happiness,  or  cause  you  a  second  thought.  I 
am  generally  happy  enough ;  those  feelings  which  you 
have  seen  so  greatly  excited  to-day,  are  usually  dormant ; 
it  requires  the  weird  influence  of  Grassmere,  to  call  them 
into  violent  action." 

"Miss  Aldeane,  ma  wants  you  to  come  and  see  the 
cactus  in  bloom ;  it  is  beautiful,"  cried  Leonore,  who 
unperceived  had  joined  them.  "  You  look  as  grave  as  a 
judge.  I  don't  believe  you  have  enjoyed  yourself  one 
bit  to-day.  Father  has  been  imbuing  you  with  his  dis 
like  of  the  place,  and  with  his  melancholy  feelings.  Come 
away !  I  won't  let  you  speak  to  him  again,  while  we  are 
here  !" 

Colonel  Arendell  laughed,  and  left  them,  to  talk  with 
his  negro  overseer,  an  intelligent  and  trustworthy  man, 
who  had  the  full  control  of  affairs  at  Grassmere.  Al 
deane  joined  Leonore  and  Mrs.  Arendell  in  a  walk 
through  the  flower-garden ;  and  afterward,  when  sitting 
in  one  of  the  arbors,  eating  early  fruit  and  conversing 
gayly,  she  found  ample  employment  in  fashioning  into 
wreaths  and  bouquets  the  numerous  blossoms  they  had 
plucked.  Jessie,  Leonore,  and  Mrs.  Arendell,  were  soon 
decked  with  wreaths,  and  Aldeane  was  about  to  throw 
the  remaining  flowers  aside,  when  Jessie  exclaimed : — 

"  Oh  ! .  Miss  Guthrie,  you  haven't  any  flowers.  You 
must  have  some  too  !" 

Aldeane  smiling,  glanced  at  her  black  dress,  and  said, 
"  I  can't  wear  them  now !" 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  must !"  returned  Jessie,  "  because  it  is 
your  birthday,  you  know.  Do  put  some  in  your  hair." 

Aldeane  joined  together  a  spray  of  jasmine  and  white 
rose-buds,  and  to  Jessie's  delight  placed  them  in  her 
hair,  with  the  inquiry :  "  Will  that  do  ?" 


78  ALDEANE. 

"No,"  answered  Mrs.  Arendell.  "It  is  too  great  a 
contrast ;  besides,  white  and  black  are  too  somber." 

"  I  will  add  some  golden-hearted  violets  then.  I  can 
not  wear  gayer  colors  yet !"  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears 
as  she  thought  of  her  mother,  whose  favorite  flowers  she 
then  held. 

The  summer  afternoon  was  waning.  The  sun  was 
gilding  the  rough  trunks  of  the  old  trees,  and  lighting 
up  as  with  fire  the  large  windows  of  the  mansion,  when 
Frank  ran  up  to  tell  them  that  the  carriage  would  soon  be 
ready.  They  repaired  to  the  house  to  partake  of  some 
slight  refreshment,  and  soon  after  departed,  leaving  Aunt 
Samira,  Uncle  Charley,  the  overseer,  and  the  sable  crew, 
they  professed  to  govern,  in  great  delight  at  their  mas 
ter's  commendation. 

All  seemed  in  excellent  spirits,  and  the  ride  home, 
enlivened  by  jests  and  laughter,  passed  quickly.  Still, 
thoughts  of  Colonel  Arendell's  strange  conduct  through 
out  the  day  would  intrude  upon  Aldeane's  mind.  It 
seemed  scarcely  possible  that  the  man  who  was  now 
heartily  participating  in  the  merriment  of  those  around 
him,  without  one  shade  of  gloomy  thought  upon  his 
countenance,  could  be  the  same  who,  at  numerous  times 
throughout  the  day,  had  betrayed  such  serious  and 
troubled  emotions.  Yet  she  liked  him  better  in  the  real 
character  of  which  she  had  caught  momentary  glimpses, 
than  in  the  gay  dissemblement  in  which  he  usually 
appeared. 

"  How  have  you  enjoyed  yourself,  Miss  Guthrie  ?"  he 
asked,  as  he  assisted  her  to  alight  on  their  arrival  at 
Arendell. 

"Excellently,  but  very  strangely,  for  I  have  passed 
through  a  labyrinth  of  riddles." 

"  They  will  all  be  solved  at  some  time.  But  not  now  ! 
not  now !"  he  replied,  a  troubled  look  passing  over  his 
face.  "  Go  into  the  house,  my  dear,  the  dew  is  falling.  1 


ALDEANE.  79 

shall  seek  forgetfulness  of  sorrow  by  indulging  in  a  pipe 
in  the  fresh  air." 

Aldeane  took  Jessie's  hand,  and,  sadly  perplexed, 
entered  the  house.  After  supper,  music  and  the  society 
of  a  few  friends  effectually  dispelled  all  gloomy  thoughts, 
and  at  a  late  hour  she  retired  to  rest,  having  well  enjoyed 
her  eighteenth  birthday. 


- 


CHAPTER  X. 

"JANUARY  AND  MAY." 

QUITE  unconsciously  to  herself  her  piquancy  and  grace 
upon  that  evening  had  won  for  Aldeane  more  admiration 
than  any  beauty  of  face  or  form  could  possibly  have 
done.  More  than  one  young  gentleman  returned  to  his 
home  with  visions  of  her  as  its  loved  and  loving  mistress. 
But  these,  young  as  they  were,  for  some  time  at  least, 
kept  their  own  counsel,  and  it  was  only  from  the  most 
unwelcome  source  that  Aldeane  Guthrie  received  any 
intimation  of  her  power. 

Upon  the  following  day,  accompanied  by  the  children, 
she  went  a  short  distance  up  the  river  in  search  of  yellow 
jasmine,  which  they  assured  her  grew  there  in  great 
quantities,  and  the  party  having  pursued  their  search 
together  in  vain,  the  boys  left  her  and  Jessie,  asking  them 
not  to  leave  the  spot,  and  promising  soon  to  return  with 
the  floral  treasure. 

Being  slightly  fatigued  Aldeane  suffered  Jessie  to  wan 
der  a  short  distance  from  her,  and  sat  down  at  the  foot  of 
a  large  beech-tree  which  overhung  the  water.  Fearing 
Jessie  might  go  too  far,  she  turned  to  look  after  her,  when 
a  voice  speaking  her  name  startled  her  violently. 

"I  did  not  know  you  were  here,"  she  involuntarily 
exclaimed,  starting  to  her  feet,  and  regarding  the  intruder 
with  no  flattering  expression. 

"  Pardon  me,"  returned  Mr.  Blake,  for  it  were  he.  "  The 
boys,  whom  I  met  just  now,  told  me  you  were  here,  and  I 


ALDEANE.  81 

could  not  resist  this  intrusion — if  it  is  one,"  lie  added, 
with  a  gallant  smile  and  bow. 

"It  certainly  is,  sir,"  retorted  Aldeane,  making  no 
attempt  to  hide  the  dislike  she  held  for  him. 

"  One  moment !  One  moment,  Miss  Guthrie,  I  beg !"  he 
interposed,  as  she  took  Jessie's  hand  and  was  about  to 
leave  the  spot.  "Do  not  give  me  the  unhappiness  of 
knowing  that  I  drive  you  from  this  place.  One  word, 
and  if  you  still  desire  it  I  will  retire." 

"  That  one  word  is  quite  unnecessary,  sir,"  she  returned, 
her  cheeks  flushing  like  fire,  for  she  well  knew  to  what 
that  word  would  tend. 

"  It  must  be  spoken !"  cried  Blake,  eagerly  advancing 
toward  her,  "  and  upon  your  reply  the  happiness  of  my 
future  life  depends." 

Even  at  that  moment,  when  she  was  both  angered  and 
alarmed,  a  ludicrous  thought  presented  itself  to  her  mind. 
"  Luckily,"  she  thought,  "  if  that  be  so,  I  should  judge  he 
has  but  a  few  years  longer  to  live,"  a  reflection  by  no 
means  flattering  to  Mr.  Blake's  carefully  dyed  hair  and 
whiskers,  and  the  scientifically  hidden  crows'-feet  that 
surrounded  his  bright,  keen  eyes. 

"  You  can  not  have  failed,  Miss  Aldeane,"  he  continued 
rapidly,  "  to  see  that  I  have  regarded  you,  from  the  first 
moment  of  our  acquaintance,  with  a  high  degree  of  esteem 
and  admiration.  Allow  me,  then,  Miss  Aldeane,  to  say, 
that  during  that  entire  period  I  have  also  loved  you,  that 
I  love  you  now,  and  entreat  you  to  become  my  wife." 

"  That  can  never  be,"  she  replied  with  dignity.  "  Pray 
say  no  more,  sir,  it  can  never  be ;"  and  calling  to 
Jessie,  who  had  escaped  her  grasp,  again  attempted  to 
leave  him. 

He  was  in  no  degree  disconcerted  by  her  answer,  but 
had  evidently  expected  it.  "  Observe,  Miss  Guthrie,"  he 
said  as  he  laid  a  detaining  hand  upon  her  arm,  which  she 
instantly  threw  off, — "  observe,  Miss  Guthrie,  I  have  not 

4* 


82  ALDEANE. 

asked  you  to  love  me,  though  if  you  should  marry  me,  1 
have  no  fear  but  my  constant  kindness  would  lead  you  to 
do  so.  Your  love  I  do  not  exact,  although  I  ask  you  to  be 
my  wife." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  returned  Aldeane,  with  a  curling 
lip,  "  but  I  am  tpo  young  to  consider  the  possibility  of 
marrying  without  love." 

"  Ah,  Miss  Aldeane,  that  is  so  very  natural !"  he  ex 
claimed  in  affected  admiration ;  "  but  really  one  of  your 
amiable  disposition  could  not  fail  to  love  one  to  whom 
you  were  advantageously  married." 

Aldeane  looked  at  him  a  moment  with  flashing  eyes, 
and  then  most  quietly  said :  "  You  wish,  sir,  to  remind 
me  that  I  am  a  poor  governess,  and  you  a  rich  planter." 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  !"  he  returned  earnestly ;  "  believe  me  that 
I  have  no  wish  to  remind  you  of  any  thing  unpleasant  in 
your  own  position,  while  I  may  surely  be  excused  for  wish 
ing  you  to  remember  whatever  is  agreeable  in  mine." 

"  I  remember  both,"  she  answered,  "  but  neither  in 
fluence  me.  It  can  be  no  secret  to  you,  Mr.  Blake,  that  I 
possess  a  natural  antipathy  to  you,  as  real  and  strong  as 
if  I  were  a  victim  of  your  enmity  and  malice." 

Strangely  as  she  looked  at  him,  his  head  drooped,  and 
every  vestige  of  color  forsook  his  face.  "  Pardon  me," 
she  added  quickly,  though  she  could  imagine  no  reason 
for  this  sudden  change  in  him. — "  pardon  me  if  I  have 
spoken  plainly,  but  it  is  better  so  at  such  a  time.  Per 
haps  I  ought  to  thank  you,  Mr.  Blake,  for  the  honor  you 
have  done  me.  At  any  rate  I  do  so,  while  I  must  decline 
it."  And  again  she  attempted  to  leave  him. 

"  Wait,  wait !"  he  exclaimed  huskily,  once  more  detain 
ing  her.  "  Indeed,  Miss  Aldeane,  I  do  love  you ;  just 
consider  the  matter  for  a  moment  now  !  Pray  do.  Per 
haps  you  refuse  me,  because  I  was  once  Colonel  Arendell's 
overseer,  but  I  was  also  the  cousin  of  his  first  wife  ;  the 
family  is  unexceptionable,  I  assure  you  !" 


ALDEANE.  83 

Aldeane  could  not  restrain  a  smile,  and  though  it 
was  any  thing  but  encouraging  in  its  nature,  it  appeared 
to  give  Mr.  Blake  heart  to  proceed,  for  he  continued 
rapidly : — 

"  Besides,  Miss  Aldeane,  just  think,  I  hold  as  good  a  po 
sition  in  society  as  the  Arendells  themselves,  and  I  assure 
you  I  am  much  wealthier." 

"  I  am  really  anxious  to  return  to  the  house,"  said  Al 
deane,  in  reply.  "  If  you  wish  to  serve  me  in  any  way,  Mr. 
Blake,  do  so  in  the  only  way  possible — by  allowing  me  to 
leave  you." 

"  That  you  may  consider  what  I  have  said,"  he  ex 
claimed,  eagerly.  "  Really,  Miss  Aldeane,  in  justice  to 
both  of  us,  you  should  do  that." 

"  I  have  given  the  subject  all  the  consideration  it  re 
quires,"  she  retorted,  impatiently.  "  I  can  not  and  I  will 
not  marry  you." 

He  seemed  then,  for  the  first  time,  to  be  more  angry 
than  grieved.  "  You  are  very  proud,  and  very  deter 
mined,"  he  said.  "  I  have  known  those  of  your  blood  be 
fore  who  were  so,  but  if  all  was  known,  you  might  find 
yourself  with  little  cause  to  despise  an  alliance  with  me." 

She  saw  the  word  liar,  written  upon  his  very  face,  and 
it  suddenly  flashed  upon  her  that  if  she  knew  all,  she 
might  find  abundant  cause  to  despise  him.  "  What,"  she 
exclaimed,  with  a  recollection  of  Colonel  Arendell's 
words,  "  did  you,  too,  know  my  family  ?  Oh,  what  is  the 
mystery  concerning  them  ;  I  know  there  is  one.  What 
is  it  ?  Pray,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  replied,  drawing  a  step  near  her, 
"  I  will  tell  you,  if  you  will  become  my  wife." 

"  My  curiosity  is  not  so  great,"  she  answered. 

"  But  the  benefit  it  would  be  to  you,  Miss  Aldeane ; 
think  of  all  the  wonderful  tales  you  have  read  of  the  dis 
closures  of  secrets,  and  then  imagine  what  the  benefit  will 
be,  and  then  you  will  fall  short  of  the  reality." 


84:  ALDEANE. 

Aldeane  looked  at  him  with  widely  distended  eyes. 

"  I  do  not  exaggerate,"  he  continued.  "  I  can  tell  you 
what  you  would  give  worlds  to  know."  He  paused  and 
looked  at  her. 

"  You  shall  say  no  more  to  me,"  she  presently  said.  "  I 
am  happy  and  contented  in  my  ignorance." 

"  But  you  can  no  longer  be  in  ignorance  that  a  great 
benefit  is  within  your  reach,  if  you  believe  my  word  to 
be  that  of  an  honorable  man." 

He  knew  that  it  was  likely  she  had  heard  that  ques 
tioned,  yet  he  was  mad  enough  in  his  earnestness  to 
speak  of  it. 

"  I  will  question  Colonel  Arendell,"  she  thought.  "  If 
there  is  a  benefit  within  my  reach,  he  will  tell  me  so.  I 
know  in  my  case,  Arthur  would  not  have  me  sacrifice 
myself  to  this  designing  man ;"  and  so  once  more  she 
gave  him  to  understand  that  his  suit  was  hopeless. 

"  I  shall  take  further  opportunity  of  assuring  myself 
of  that,"  he  said  with  a  sinister  smile,  as  he  heard  the 
boys  crashing  through  the  underbrush,  "  and  again,  Miss 
Guthrie,  I  should  advise  you  to  consider  the  subject 
well." 

He  bowed,  and  disappeared.  The  boys  coming  up 
with  their  arms  full  of  wild  jasmine,  were  surprised  to 
find  that  their  governess  took  but  little  heed  of  it,  but 
hurried  them  home,  exclaiming  that  she  was  tired,  and 
confirming  her  words,  upon  her  ariival  at  the  house,  by 
hastening  to  her  room,  and  remaining  there  for  hours. 

Strangely  enough,  amid  all  the  excitement  and  passion 
in  which  she  entered  the  room,  and  without  owning  to 
herself  the  slightest  reason  for  the  act,  she  took  from  its 
resting-place  the  ivory  case  Belle  had  dropped  upon  her 
lap  one  memorable  summer  eve ;  she  looked  long  and 
thoughtfully  upon  the  portrait  it  contained. 

"  What  a  frank,  honest  face,"  she  mused,  "  how  kind 
he  used  to  be ;  I  wonder  if  he  would  be  now,  or  if  even 


ALDEANE.  85 

he,  in  my  position,  would  find  some  cause  or  excuse  for 
insult  ?"  and  then,  passionately  exclaiming  that  she  had 
been  that  day  insulted,  she  clasped  her  hands  over  her 
face,  and  burst  into  tears. 

She  wept  long  and  passionately,  and  then  a  sudden 
belief  that  Blake  had  sought  deliberately  to  ensnare  and 
deceive  her,  seized  upon  her  mind. 

The  longer  she  thought  of  this,  and  the  opinion  she 
had  formed  of  her  unwelcome  admirer,  the  more  she  be 
came  convinced  of  this. 

"  He  must  think  me  the  weakest  of  all  weak-minded 
women,"  she  said  more  than  once,  "to  suppose  that  I 
would  marry  him,  even  for  the  wealth  of  the  Indies,  much 
less  without  an  explanation  of  the  mystery  he  had  con 
jured  up ;"  and  then  reminding  herself  that  if  there  had 
been  any  secret  existing  that  could  be  of  possible  benefit 
to  herself  and  Arthur,  her  mother  would  have  informed 
them  of  it,  she  endeavored  to  dismiss  the  subject  from  her 
mind. 

And  this  she  succeeded  in  doing  to  a  far  greater  degree 
than,  in  any  weak-minded  woman,  could  have  been  ex 
pected,  after  she  had  written  to  Arthur,  and,  without  men 
tioning  her  reasons,  urged  him  to  prompt  Charles  Evans 
to  renewed  exertions  to  discover  the  paper  that  had  been 
left  by  their  mother  in  his  father's  charge. 

And  so  she  said  nothing  to  Colonel  Arendell;   and 

• 
when  Arthur's  reply  to  her  letter  arrived,  saying  that  all 

endeavors  to  discover  the  paper  had  been  in  vain,  she 
thought,  with  some  amusement,  of  the  secret  with  which 
she  had  for  a  moment  connected  it ;  and  thinking,  with 
relief,  that  Mr.  Blake  had  not  again  adverted  to  it,  dis 
missed  the  matter  from  her  mind,  and  devoted  herself 
entirely  to  her  somewhat  harassing  duties. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

AN   UNEXPECTED   ARRIVAL. 

THE  heat  was  intense.  Man,  beast,  and  herb  seemed 
fainting  beneath  its  fervency.  The  sun  poured  his  fiercest 
rays  down  through  the  mimosas,  oaks,  and  cedars  which 
surrounded  Arendell  House,  peered  boldly  into  the  dark 
ened  rooms,  and  filled  with  blinding  light  the  wide  piaz 
zas.  It  was,  indeed,  one  of  the  most  oppressive  days  of 
what  had  been  an  unusually  warm  season.  The  inmates 
of  the  house,  both  white  and  black,  had  retired  to  the 
coolest  parts  of  the  house  or  grounds,  and  performed  their 
duties  wearily  and  unwillingly. 

In  the  parlor  were  Aldeane  and  Leonore,  vainly  en 
deavoring  to  concentrate  their  wandering  attention  upon 
a  new  and  difficult  piece  of  music.  Leonore  sat  at  the 
piano,  playing  discordantly  and  looking  very  discontent 
ed,  and  wondering  greatly  why  her  mother  had  insisted 
upon  her  taking  a  lesson  upon  that  particular  morning, 
when  it  would  have  been  so  easy  to  have  postponed  it  to 
another  day.  Breaking  the  rule  for  once  could  do  no  harm. 
Aldeane  inwardly  thought  the  same,  as  she  corrected  her 
pupil's  frequent  mistakes,  and  emphatically  played  over 
the  difficult  parts  which  Leonore  insisted  upon  playing 
wrong.  A  cloud  rested  upon  the  faces  of  both. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Aldeane,  do  let  me  rest  a  little  while," 
exclaimed  Leonore,  at  length.  "  I  declare,  this  dreadful 
lesson  makes  me  faint  even  to  look  at  it.  As  for  you,  I 
should  think  you  would  die,  with  that  black  dress  on,  thin 
as  it  is.  Do  you  know,  when  grandpapa  died,  about  two 


ALDEANE.  87 

years  ago — I  had  never  seen  grandpapa,  you  know — my 
greatest  trouble  was  lest  mamma  would  put  on  mourning, 
and  insist  upon  my  doing  so  also.  I  detest  black." 

"  I  pray  you  may  never  be  called  upon  to  wear  it,"  an 
swered  Aldeane,  with  a  sigh,  glancing  at  the  little  white- 
robed  form  beside  her,  and,  as  she  was  about  to  utter 
some  penitent  excuse  for  speaking  upon  so  painful  a  sub 
ject,  adding  encouragingly,  "  Only  half  an  hour  more,  Leo- 
nore.  Come,  make  an  effort.  You  know  your  mamma  is  so 
anxious  that  you  should  cultivate  your  talent  for  music." 

"  The  only  talent  that  I  have,  unfortunately,"  remarked 
Leonore,  parenthetically. 

Aldeane  laughed  cheerfully.  "Well!  then  you  must 
bestow  all  the  more  pains  upon  it.  Play  that  over  again, 
if  you  please." 

"With  a  weary  sigh,  Leonore  turned  on  the  piano  stool, 
and  complied  with  this  request,  her  eyes  often  wandering 
from  the  page  of  music  to  the  scene  beyond  the  open 
window.  Suddenly  Aldeane  was  startled  by  the  un 
usual  exclamation,  "  Good  Heavens  !  Uncle  Fred !  Uncle 
Fred !" 

Before  she  could  ask  the  meaning  of  these  interjections, 
Leonore,  overturning  the  piano-stool  and  an  ottoman  in 
her  haste,  had  ran  from  the  room.  Aldeane  turned  to 
ward  the  window  for  a  solution  of  the  mystery.  A  cloud 
of  dust  was  slowly  subsiding  in  the  road  ;  a  horse  and 
buggy  were  standing  before  the  gate,  and  hurrying  up 
the  gravel  walk  was  Frederic  Morgan. 

Yes,  though  he  was  darker  and  much  changed  during 
the  two  years  of  absence  and  travel,  in  spite  of  the  long 
dark  whiskers  and  heavy  mustache,  she  recognized  him, 
and  with  feelings  she  could  not  herself  comprehend, 
watched  his  approach. 

In  a  moment  she  heard  him  exclaim,  in  the  old  tones 
and  with  the  same  joyous  laugh  as  of  yore,  "Ah,  Leonore  ! 
why,  bless  me,  how  you  have  grown ;  and  so  you  knew 


88  ALDEANE. 

your  old  uncle  at  a  glance !  Where  is  your  mother  ?" 
Then  followed  the  sound  of  embracing,  and  the  next  mo 
ment  his  quick  step  was  heard  upon  the  piazza. 

"  Why  Fred  Morgan  !  where  did  you  come  from  ?"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Arendell,  as  she  appeared  at  the  door  of 
the  sitting-room.  •  "  Dear  me,  how  delighted  I  am  to  see 
you,  and  how  you  have  changed !" 

"  Where  have  I  come  from  ?"  answered  her  brother, 
returning  her  cordial  embrace.  "  Why,  just  from  Eng 
land,  to  be  sure.  I  went  home,  and  found  everybody 
away,  gone  to  the  White  Mountains  again,  I  believe. 
So  as  nobody  expected  me  home,  I  thought  they  needn't 
know  of  my  being  in  the  country.  So,  instead  of  writing 
to  them  to  come  home,  I  embraced  the  only  chance  I 
could  hope  to  get  for  some  time,  and  ran  down  to  see 
you." 

"  Well,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you ;  and  how  long  are 
you  going  to  stay  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Arendell,  anxiously. 

"  Now,  that's  a  pretty  question  to  ask  a  man,  the  min 
ute  he  gets  into  the  house,"  returned  Mr.  Morgan  laugh 
ing  ;  "  but  to  satisfy  you,  I'll  tell  you.  Two  or  three  weeks 
at  the  longest.  I  must  really  begin  to  practice  this  fall ; 
I've  been  studying  famously  while  in  Europe,  attended 
lectures  and  walked  hospitals  enough  to  make  me  a  first- 
rate  physician,  though  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  be.  But 
here  are  Frank  and  Eddy  !  How  do  you  do,  sirs  ?  Don't 
you  know  your  Uncle  Fred  ?  And  there  is  little  Jessie. 
She's  as  pretty  as  a  rose-bud ;  and  so  like  sister  Jessie  was 
Ida !" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Arendell,  with  a  sigh ;  "  but  how 
are  ma  and  Annie,  pretty  well  ?" 

"  I  haven't  seen  them,  you  know,  but  I  believe  mother 
is  well ;  Annie  is  a  weakly  little  thing,  it  is  for  the  sake 
of  her  health  that  they  have  gone  to  the  mountains  this 
summer,  I  think.  But,  Ida,  where  is  Arendell  ?" 

"  Out  in  the  fields,  somewhere.     Here  tTule,  go  look  for 


ALDEANE.  89 

your  master ;  be  quick,  now.  Tell  him  a  gentleman  wants 
to  see  him,  but  don't  tell  him  who  it  is." 

"  Oh,  what  warm  weather,  Ida,"  ejaculated  Mr.  Mor 
gan.  " '  An'  thou  lovest  me,'  let  me  have  some  water. 
Had  you  not  kept  me  talking  so  fast  since  my  arrival,  my 
tongue  would  be  glued  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth.  I 
thought  I  should  never  reach  here  in  that  uncovered 
buggy,  driving  over  that  dusty  road." 

"  Poor  fellow,  I  pity  you ;  you  shall  have  the  water, 
but  while  you  wait  for  it,  step  into  the  parlor,  it  is  much 
cooler  there,"  answered  Mrs.  ArendelL 

During  this  time,  Aldeane  had  been  looking  round  for 

O  7  O 

some  place  of  escape,  but  found  upon  trial  that  the  door 
opening  into  the  hall  was  locked,  and  the  only  other  en 
trance  was  from  the  piazza,  upon  which  the  family  were 
then  standing.  The  windows  also  were  all  upon  that 
side.  She  had  just  finished  her  survey,  when  Mrs. 
Arendell  and  Mr.  Morgan,  followed  by  the  children, 
entered. 

"  Ah  !  Miss  Guthrie,  are  you  here  ?"  said  Mrs.  Arendell, 
as  Aldeane  arose,  blushing  confusedly  at  their  appearance. 
"Let  me  introduce  you  to  my  brother."  Fred  bowed  in 
differently.  "  Miss  Aldeane  Guthrie,  Mr.  Frederic  Mor 
gan." 

Mr.  Morgan  glanced  up  quickly  as  her  name  was  pro 
nounced,  gazed  at  her  for  a  moment  intently,  then  ex 
claiming  :  "  Is  it  possible  that  you  are  here,  Miss  Guthrie  ? 
I  am  very  happy  to  see  you.  Miss  Ashton  was  away, 
like  all  the  rest,  when  I  was  at  home ;  that  explains  why 
I  did  not  know  you  were  here,"  and  he  hastily  advanced 
to  greet  her. 

Aldeane  still  retained  the  same  position  in  which  they 
had  found  her,  and  placed  her  fingers  coldly  within  the 
hand  that  pressed  them  warmly,  while  its  owner  went  on, 
"  You  must  really  excuse  me,  Miss  Guthrie,  for  not  recog 
nizing  you  at  once ;  you  are  so  changed — where  are  those 


90  ALDEANE. 

bonny  brown  curls,  and "  glancing  at  her  black 

dress. 

"  My  mother  is  dead,"  she  replied,  sadly. 

"  Ah,"  and  his  eye  traversed  rapidly  over  her  face  and 
figure. 

"  Why,  you  seem  to  be  quite  old  friends  !"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Arendell,  in  astonishment. 

"  Certainly  we  are,"  replied  Mr.  Morgan.  "  I've  known 
Miss  Guthrie  these  six  years." 

"  Why  Aldeane,  how  is  it  you  have  never  mentioned 
him  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Arendell. 

"  I  had  not  the  least  idea  that  Mr.  Morgan  was  your 
brother,  and  therefore,  had  no  reason  for  doing  so,"  re 
turned  Aldeane. 

"  He  is  my  step-brother,"  replied  Mrs.  Arendell.  "  I  am 
glad  you  know  each  other  so  well.  Aldeane,  I  believe, 
has  been  a  little  homesick  of  late ;  it  will  do  her  good  to 
talk  of  old  times,  and  mutual  friends." 

"  Well,  really,  this  is  a  surprise  !"  exclaimed  a  voice  at 
the  door,  and  in  a  moment  more  Colonel  Arendell  was 
shaking  the  hand  of  his  brother-in-law  warmly.  "  Why, 
Fred!  how  are  you?  You're  the  very  last  person  I 
should  have  expected  to  see ;  but  none  the  less  welcome 
for  that !  How  long  have  you  been  here  ?" 

"About  half  an  hour." 

"  A  half  hour  !  and  I  suppose  Ida  and  Leonore  have 
kept  you  talking  ever  since.  I  wonder  they  ever  thought 
to  send  for  me  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  should  have  done  so,  had  not 
Fred  inquired  for  you,"  said  Mrs.  Arendell,  laughing. 
"But  Fred,  I  suppose  you  would  like  to  rest  a  little 
before  lunch,  which  will  be  ready  in  an  hour.  Here  Jule, 
take  Mr.  Morgan  to  his  old  room ;  and  Pete,  take  back 
the  horse  and  buggy  to  Loring,  and  tell  Aunt  Roxy  to 
come." 

"  I  wonder,"  thought  Aldeane,  as  Mr.  Morgan  left  the 


ALDEANE.  91 

apartment,  continuing  the  reverie  into  which  she  had 
fallen, — "  I  really  wonder  what  he  thinks  of  me,  or  at 
least,  what  he  will  when  he  discovers  that  I  am  a  mere 
dependent  here  ?  Oh  !  I  can  see  now  how  when  we 
meet,  he  will  look  at  me  superciliously,  and  bow  conde 
scendingly,"  and  she  felt  a  very  unworthy  shame  of  her 
position,  battling  with  the  good  sense  that  told  her  that 
honest  poverty  is  never  a  disgrace.  Bitter  feelings  arose 
in  her  heart.  Pride  ruled  there,  and  its  despotism  was 
keenly  felt  in  that  hour. 

"  Oh  !  why  am  I  here  to  be  despised !  I  wonder  what 
he  is  thinking  of  me  now."  In  a  tumult  of  false  pride, 
and  weak,  puerile  feelings,  she  hastily  left  the  parlor, 
and  hastened  to  her  chamber  to  indulge  in  a  flood  of 
angry  tears. 

Mr.  Morgan,  as  he  stood  before  the  glass  in  his  dress 
ing-room,  thought,  "  What  can  Aldeane  Guthrie  be  here 
for  ?  Can  it  be  that  she  is  the  governess  Ida  wrote  to  me 
about  ?  She  may  be ;  she  has  lost  her  mother,  and  that 
Nevins — Belle  has  often  told  me — hated  those  children. 
I  wonder  what  Arthur  is  doing.  I  wish  I  had  thought  to 
inquire  at  Grenville's  when  I  was  in  Boston.  Aldeane 
looked  as  proud  as  Lucifer  to-day.  I  presume  she  thought 
she  must  show  me,  that  she  considers  herself  as  good  as 
ever,  but  she  doesn't,  or  she  would  not  take  such  steps 
to  impress  me  with  the  same  idea,  which  I  have  never 
lost  yet.  I  must  consider  the  best  way  to  bring  her 
around.  How  foolish  she  is.  I  really  thought  her  more 
sensible." 

Just  at  this  point  of  his  cogitations,  Jule  entered  with 
some  water. 

"  Well,  Julius  Caesar !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Morgan,  "  how 
are  you,  and  all  the  other  braves,  and  warriors,  kings, 
and  heroes,  getting  along  ?" 

"  Fust  rate,  mass'r  !"  returned  the  grinning  black. 

"  Well,  it's  cheering  to  hear  that.     I  suppose  some  of 


92  ALDEANE. 

you  have  been  sold  '  down  South,'  since  I  was  here  last, 
eh?" 

The  boy  looked  at  him,  with  a  merry  tAvinkle  in  his 
eyes,  as  he  replied :  "  No,  sah,  Miss  Idy  wouldn't  'low 
dat,  an'  Miss  Aldeane,  I  tell  you,  would  go  agin  it  too." 

"  She  would,  eh  ?    How  long  has  she  been  here,  Jule  ?" 

"  A  year  dis  bery  month,  sah." 

"  Ah  !  and  is  she  visiting  here." 

"No,  Mass'r  Frederic,  she  am  de  goberness,  and  is 
mighty  peart,  I  kin  tell  ye,  and  Mass'r  Blake  thinks  so 
too.  She  told  him  somethin'  the  other  day  that  sent  him 
away  in  a  jiffy,  and  he  hasn't  been  nigh  dis  plantation 
sence."  And  Jule  grinned  delightfully,  adding,  "  he  might 
a-knowed,  that  Miss  Aldeane  wouldn't  eben  look  at  any 
ole  nigger  driver." 

"  You  had  better  not  speak  so,"  said  Mr.  Morgan  laiigh- 
ing ;  "  he  may  have  you  some  day,  perhaps." 

"  No,  sah,  he  won't.  Mass'r  John  don't  sell  his  niggers. 
Miss  Idy  wouldn't  let  him  do  that  no  how." 

"  And  you  say,  you  like  Miss  Guthrie,"  said  Fi'ederic. 
"  I  suppose  she  spoils  you  all.  And  do  Colonel  Arendell, 
and  Miss  Ida,  like  her  as  well  ?" 

"  I  guess  they  does,  sah,  and  Miss  Nora  jes  lobes  her 
dearly.  Dere's  the  bell,  sah  !" 

"  Poor  Alie  !"  thought  Mr.  Morgan,  as  he  prepared  to 
answer  the  summons.  "  I  know  this  life  is  distasteful  if 
not  positively  hateful  to  her.  How  different  she  looks 
now,  to  what  she  did  when  I  parted  from  her  in  Boston. 
She  was  really  quite  pretty  then,  though  like  me,  she  has 
no  particular  beauty  to  boast  of,  especially  now  that  those 
•  glossy  brown  curls  are  tucked  up.  I  never  could  see  any 
reason  why  girls  always  try  to  make  themselves  as  plain 
as  a  nun  when  they  become  teachers,  yet  they  almost 
invariably  do.  Well !  although  they  are  kind  to  her 
here,  yet  I  know  that  she  thinks  like  I  do,  that  teaching 
is  a  hard  business.  I  don't  like  it !" 


ALDEANE.  93 

Miss  Guthrie  did  not  appear  at  lunch  that  day.  "  A 
bad  headache,"  Zettie  said,  keeping  her  in  her  own 
apartment. 

"  I  thought  she  looked  pale  this  morning,  when  we 
were  in  the  parlor  with  Uncle  Fred,"  remarked  Leonore. 
"  I  knew  she  would  be  sick  after  giving  me  a  lesson  this 
warm  morning ;  and  I  should  have  been  sick  too,  had  not 
uncle's  providential  arrival  interrupted  the  lesson.  I 
wish  some  one  would  come  at  every  such  time." 

"  Leonore,  you  are  dreadfully  lazy !"  said  Mrs.  Aren- 
dell  laughing. 

While  Mr.  Morgan  thought,  "  Ah !  a  headache,  I  don't 
remember  of  ever  having  heard  her  complain  of  it  before. 
But  of  course  it  is  this  confounded  teaching,"  then,  turn 
ing  to  Mrs.  Arendell,  he  inquired : — 

"Is  Miss  Guthrie  a  good  music-teacher?  She  used  to 
sing  and  play  well." 

"  She  is  the  best  teacher  Leonore  has  ever  had  ;  doubt 
less  she  performs  as  well,  if  not  better,  than  she  did 
when  you  parted.  I  presume  you  will  soon  have  an 
opportunity  of  judging  for  yourself.  But  I  am  afraid 
after  being  in  Europe  so  long,  you  will  have  no  taste  for 
our  home  melodies." 

"  Indeed  !"  he  returned,  "  that  remains  to  be  proved. 
If  Miss  Guthrie  sings  half  as  well  as  she  used  to,  I  think 
you  will  find  yourself  mistaken.  My  traveling  compan 
ion,  Raymond,  used  to  be  wild  about  her  voice.  I  must 
write  to  him  that  she  is  here,  and,  with  your  permission, 
Ida,  ask  him  to  come  here,  and  listen  to  it  once  more." 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  said  Mrs.  Arendell.  "  I  know  you 
were  jesting,  Fred,  but,  I  am  quite  anxious  to  see  this 
paragon  of  whom  you  have  so  often  written.  I  declare  !" 
she  added  suddenly,  "  in  future  I  shall  be  more  communi 
cative  about  my  family.  If  I  had  been  in  the  past,  I 
should  have  known  long  ago  that  you  and  Aldeane  were 
acquainted." 


94:  ALDEANE. 

"  And  it  appears  that  Miss  Guthrie  is  equally  reticent 
concerning  her  friends,"  remarked  her  brother,  with  a 
curious  smile.  "  But  it  is  a  wonder  that  mamma  never 
mentioned  her  knowledge  of  your  governess.  Miss  Ash- 
ton  has  of  course  mentioned  to  her  the  names  of  her 
friend's  employers." 

"Well,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Mrs.  Arendell,  coloring, 
"  that  mamma  was  a  little  piqued  that  I  did  not  ask  her 
to  choose  me  a  governess,  but  really,  Miss  Osmond  was 
so  unsatisfactory,  that  I  thought  it  best  to  trust  entirely 
to  Professor  Grenville,  and  say  nothing  to  mamma  about 
it." 

"  Or  it  may  be  possible,"  suggested  Colonel  Arendell, 
archly,  "  that  mamma  may  not  have  cared  to  claim  ac 
quaintance  with  Our  governess.  This  is  a  queer  world, 
you  know  !" 

Mr.  Morgan  laughed.  Mrs.  Arendell  glanced  at  her 
husband  indignantly,  but,  knowing  his  supposition  was 
highly  probable,  said  nothing. 

"  Oh,  no  !"  cried  Leonore,  "  that's  always  your  way, 
papa,  to  try  to  find  a  dark  side  to  the  picture.  Ota- 
world  is  a  very  good  world,  is  it  not,  Uncle  Fred  ?" 

"  It  suits  me  very  well,"  he  returned  gayly.  "  I've  had 
but  little  trouble  in  it.  Perhaps  it  is  coming  though,  for 
you  and  me  both,  Leonora." 

"  God  forbid !"  said  the  colonel,  as  they  arose  from 
the  table. 

Aldeane  appeared  at  tea,  apparently  as  well  as  usual. 
A  slight  hauteur  characterized  her  deportment  toward 
Mr.  Morgan ;  a  fact  which  he  failed  not  to  notice,  and, 
with  a  feeling  of  amusement  and  pity,  to  attribute  to  its 
proper  source.  The  night  was  dark,  so  they  left  the 
piazza  earlier  than  usual,  and  repaired  to  the  parlor.  Mr. 
Morgan  soon  took  his  seat  at  the  piano,  and  commenced 
playing  light  airs,  at  the  same  time  talking  to  Mrs. 
Arendell  and  the  children,  who  had  gathered  around 


ALDEANE.  95 

him.  Suddenly  he  played  a  rich  prelude,  beckoning  to 
Aldeane  and  exclaiming : — 

"  Miss  Guthrie,  you  can  sing  this  !     Come  !" 

It  was  a  song  she  had  often  sung  with  Arthur,  it  re 
quired  a  powerful  effort  to  sing  it  now.  He  had  scarcely 
spoken  to  her  before,  and  his  tone  now  was  peremptory. 
She  wished  to  refuse ;  but  remembered,  as  she  supposed 
he  also  did,  that  she  was  a  dependent  in  his  sister's  house, 
and  taking  the  music  from  his  hand  seated  herself,  and 
sang  the  song  with  unusual  taste  and  power. 

"  Very  good  !  Really  very  good,"  said  Mr.  Morgan 
approvingly.  "  Raymond  must  really  hear  you.  You 
remember  Raymond,  Miss  Guthrie  ?" 

It  flashed  into  her  mind  that  he  wished  to  convey  the 
impression  that  there  had  been  a  flirtation  between  her 
and  the  person  of  whom  he  spoke.  The  thought  came 
upon  her,  too,  that  perhaps  he  took  this  mode  of  saying 
that  there  had  been  no  special  friendship  between  them 
selves,  though  he  had  taken  her  portrait,  and  left  her 
his. 

She  was  so  overcome  by  the  possibility  that  he  should 
think  she  attached  any  importance  to  that  boyish  act, 
that  she  rose  from  her  seat,  murmured  an  excuse  to  Mrs. 
Arendell,  and  abruptly  left  the  room. 

A  few  moments  later  she  was  rapidly  pacing  the  floor 
of  her  own  apartment,  her  hands  clasped,  and  her  teeth 
clinched  tightly  together,  while  in  a  low,  passionate 
voice,  she  exclaimed :  "  Oh  !  why  did  he  come  here  to 
torment  me  ?  What,  though  I  am  poor,  I  am  human  ! 
Oh  !  how  he  spoke  to  me  to-night.  Only  two  years  ago, 
he  would  have  felt  honored,  yes,  honored,  by  my  com 
pany  !  But  now,  I  am  only  Mrs.  John  Arendell's  govern 
ess,  but  I  am  as  proud  as  ever — yes — and  I  hate  him ! 
I  hate  him  !  Oh,  why  did  he  come  to  torment  me  !" 


CHAPTER   XII. 

A   WAR    OF   WORDS. 

ALDEAXE  was  perfectly  aware  that  the  frame  of  mind 
into  which  Mr.  Morgan's  arrival  had  thrown  her  was 
quite  uncalled  for;  and,  while  she  could  not  change  or 
overcome  it,  she  blamed  herself  for  it  as  much  as  a  most 
censorious  stranger  would  have  done. 

To  her  extreme  annoyance  and  self-contempt,  she  was 
filled  with  a  feeling  she  had  never  known  before.  She 
had  a  harrowing  suspicion  that  people  "  looked  down " 
upon  her  because  of  her  position,  and  that  she  was  merely 
tolerated  and  patronized ;  and  that,  at  least  from  Mr. 
Morgan,-  she  could  not  bear. 

Of  one  thing  she  was  quite  certain — his  conduct  toward 
her  was  quite  different  to  what  it  used  to  be.  There  was 
none  of  the  freedom  and  affability  which  existed  in  the 
happy  days  at  Rose  Cottage.  Of  course,  she  never  for  a 
moment  suspected  any  greater  change  in  her  conduct  than 
was  justified  by  that  in  his,  and,  therefore,  meeting  his 
careless  pleasantries,  which  she  chose  to  consider  patron 
izing  impertinences,  with  most  frigid  politeness,  the  cool 
ness  between  them  each  day  became  greater,  and  led  Mrs. 
Arendell  to  suppose  the  friendship  between  them  had 
never  been  a  warm  one,  and  to  attribute  her  mother's 
silence  regarding  Miss  Guthrie  to  a  far  more  charitable 
motive  than  that  which  had  been  imputed  to  her  by 
her  husband.  And  thus  a  slight  reserve  arose  between 
Aldeane  and  her  employer,  which  added  not  a  little  to  her 
discomfort. 


ALDEANE.  97 

One  afternoon  Colonel,  Mrs.  Arendell,  and  Leonore  had 
gone  to  Loring,  and  Mr.  Morgan  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
The  children  were  playing  in  the  garden,  leaving  Aldeane 
alone.  She  soon  became  weary  of  the  embroidery  upon 
which  she  was  engaged,  and  went  to  the  library  for  a  book. 
Her  choice  was  soon  made ;  and  she  was  about  to  leave 
the  room,  when  she  saw  a  Raleigh  paper,  which  had  just 
arrived,  lying  upon  the  table.  She  sometimes  contributed 
to  it,  and  taking  it  up,  glanced  over  it  in  search  of  a  poem 
she  expected  to  appear.  It  was  there.  She  read  it  over, 
replaced  the  paper  on  the  table,  and  was  about  to  leave 
the  room,  when  she  was  startled  by  the  exclamation: — 

"  Ah !  did  you  write  that  ?  I  had  a  suspicion  that  you 
did,  when  I  read  it  this  morning.  '  A.  G.'  Yes,  those 
are  your  initials.  Come,  own  that  the  lines  are  yours." 

She  glanced  up,  startled  and  angry,  and  beheld  Mr. 
Morgan  looking  at  the  article  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Foreign  travel  has  not  tended  to  improve  your  man 
ners,"  she  said,  tartly,  unable  to  repress  her  thoughts. 

He  laughed  good-naturedly.  "I  don't  wonder  you 
think  so.  But  did  you  write  the  piece  before  us  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  why  didn't  you  say  so  at  once  ?  Then  you  do 
write,  now  ?" 

"  Occasionally." 

"  Will  you  let  me  see  some  of  your  late  productions  ? 
I  wish  to  see  if  you  have  improved  much." 

"  There  are  papers  containing  some  about  the  house, 
I  believe,  sir,"  she  replied. 

"  Ah !"  He  seemed  surprised  and  half  angry  at  her 
curt  replies.  Aldeane  turned  to  leave  the  room.  He 
stood  before  the  door.  She  looked  at  him  scornfully,  her 
proud  soul  standing  forth  plainly  in  her  expressive  face. 
"  Why  does  he  not  stand  back  and  let  me  pass  ?"  she 
thought.  Her  anger  rose  high  as  he  fixed  his  calm  blue 
eyes  upon  her  and  inquired : — 


98  ALDEANE. 

"  Does  Miss  Ashton  correspond  with  you  ?" 

"  My  friends  are  not  all  purse-proud  and  worthless  !" 
she  retorted,  angrily.  "  Yes,  sir,  Miss  Ashton  does  corre 
spond  with  me !" 

"  I  supposed  so  !    Has  she  returned  from  her  tour  yet  ?" 

"  She  is  now  at  Rose  Cottage." 

"  Where  is  Arthur  now  ?" 

"  In  Boston." 

"  Can  nothing  make  her  communicative  ?"  thought 
Frederic.  Then  to  Aldeane :  "  What  is  he  doing  there  ? 
Not  dragging  out  his  life  as  a  salesman,  or  dry-goods 
clerk,  I  hope?  His  handsome  face  would  be  a  great 
attraction  to  the  ladies." 

"  I  am  perfectly  aware,  Mr.  Morgan,"  returned  Aldeane, 
with  dignity,  "  that  you  feel  not  the  slightest  interest  in 
the  question  you  have  asked ;  nevertheless,  I  will  answer 
it;  after  which  I  hope  you  will  allow  me  to  leave  the 
room,  which,  you  can  perceive,  I  have  desired  to  do  for 
some  time.  My  brother  is  studying  law,  in  the  office  of 
John  Halcombe,  in  Boston.  Chester  Halcombe  and  he 
anticipate  taking  John's  practice  in  a  few  months — as 
soon  as  they  are  admitted  to  the  bar." 

"  Ah !  so  he  may  be  a  judge  after  all !  I  remember 
Miss  Isabella  used  to  call  him  that  years  ago." 

"  Permit  me  to  pass,  if  you  please,  sir !" 

"I  prefer  not  to — take  a  chair.  I  should  like  to 
converse  with  you." 

His  words  and  manner  irritated  her  greatly. 

"Mr.  Morgan,  I  do  not  wish  to  remain  here,"  she 
replied,  "and  I  will  not.  Remember  that  if  I  am  a 
dependent  in  Mrs.  Arendell's  house,  I  am  not  subject  to 
your  orders !" 

"  I  see  you  still  retain  your  old  spirit,"  he  returned. 
"  But  really  I  do  not  wish  to  offend  you.  We  were  once 
good  friends.  Why  should  we  quarrel  now?  Come, 
shake  hands,  and  as  Frank  would  say  'make  it  up.'" 


ALDEANE.  99 

Aldeane  remained  silent,  not  attempting  to  take  his 
proffered  hand. 

"  Ah  !  you  are  obdurate  !     How  have  I  offended  ?" 

"  By  keeping  me  here  against  my  will ;  by  showing  in 
every  action,  a  hundred  times  a  day,  that  I  am  an 
inferior,  an  '  upper  servant,'  as  they  would  say  in  Eu 
rope  !  Do  not  ask  how  you  have  offended !" 

"  Nonsense !  Miss  Guthrie,  I  haven't  brought  away 
any  such  foolish  notions.  All  the  false  pride  is  on  your 
side,  not  mine  !  Shake  hands,  will  you  ?" 

"  No  !  Let  me  pass  !"  returned  Aldeane  irefully.  "  I 
wish  you  would  go  from  that  door  and  never  return ! 
your  presence  is  hateful  to  me !  Let  me  go  !" 

He  stepped  aside,  astounded  at  her  vehemence.  She 
darted  past  him,  and  was  soon  venting  her  feelings  in 
her  own  chamber ;  while  Frederic  picking  up  the  book 
she  had  dropped,  muttered ;  "  Heavens  !  I  never  dreamed 
of  raising  such  a  storm !  yet  although  she  is  so  passion 
ate,  which  I  never  knew  before,  I  can't  help  liking  her ! 
Poor  little  thing,  she  fancies  that  I  despise  her  for  being 
poor.  I  only  admire  her  the  more  now  that  she  has 
shown  the  ability  and  energy  to  fulfill  her  duty  so  well, 
and  obtain  such  an  honorable  living.  Well !  I  hope  still 
to  propitiate  her  before  I  leave." 

A  week  quickly  flew  by — a  week  of  keen  unhappiness  to 
Aldeane.  Every  careless  action  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Mor 
gan  offended  her.  She  lived  in  a  feverish  state  which  it 
is  impossible  to  describe;  but  she  schooled  herself  to 
bear  his  coolness,  and  seeming  neglect,  and  even  to  look 
kindly  upon  the  haughty  pride,  which  she  conceived 
separated  them.  She  thought  of  his  associations  during 
the  past  two  years ;  how  that  intercourse  with  the  aris 
tocracy  of  Europe  must  have  changed  his  republican 
ideas  and  taught  him  to  despise  poverty  and  labor, 
however  worthy. 

She  noticed,  with  gladness,  his  kindness  to  the  slaves, 


100  ALDEANE. 

and  their  respect  and  esteem  for  him;  though  the 
thought  burnt  deeply  into  her  heart,  "  He  is  kinder  to 
them  than  to  me,  because  he  thinks  there  is  no  fear  of 
familiarity  from  them.  He  is  the  same  as  of  old  to 
others ;  changed  only  to  me."  She  never  for  a  moment 
imagined  that  the  change  was  in  herself.  She  some 
times  almost  regretted  her  scornful  rejection  of  his  over 
tures  of  friendship,  but  pride  forbade  her  to  make  any 
advances  toward  conciliating  him.  A  strange  and  un- 
definable  feeling  ruled  her.  He  possessed  a  certain 
power  over  her,  which,  although  even  to  herself  she 
would  never  acknowledge  it,  he  had  always  held,  but 
had  never  exercised  so  fully,  as  during  those  days  of 
estrangement.  In  olden  times  he  had  been  to  her  what 
he  still  was  to  others — genial  and  gay,  overflowing  with 
wit  and  laughter ;  a  general  torment,  also  a  universal 
favorite;  now  a  jest  never  passed  between  them,  and  she 
seldom  even  smiled  at  his  sallies.  She  sighed  that,  even 
in  her  heart,  she  could  no  longer  call  him  her  friend,  she 
was  fully  conscious  that  of  all  on  earth,  his  friendship  she 
should  most  dearly  prize.  Yet  she  made  no  effort  to 
obtain  it,  and  he  remained  as  distant  as  ever.  His  pres- 
,ence  was  very  irksome  to  her ;  and  she  was  glad  when 
she  heard  that  he  was  to  accompany  Colonel  Arendell  to 
Raleigh,  to  remain  their  several  days. 

The  morning  that  they  were  to  leave,  she  stood  with 
the  family  upon  the  piazza  to  see  them  off.  Mr.  Morgan 
shook  hands  with  and  kissed  his  sister,  and  the  family, 
but  to  Aldeane  merely  bowed  politely,  and  then  hurried 
down  the  walk  in  obedience  to  the  colonel's  loud  calls 
and  solicitations.  She  felt  much  mortified  at  this  slight, 
and  still  more  so  when  Jessie  exclaimed : — 

"  Why,  ma  !  Uncle  Fred  never  shook  hands  with  Miss 
Aldeane,  and  he  kissed  all  the  rest  of  us.  I  think  it  was 
right  mean  of  him  !" 

"  Oh !  he  was  in  a  great  hurry,  my  child !"  returned 


ALDEANE.  101 

Mrs.  Arendell,  surprised  and  annoyed  at  her  brother's 
conduct,  yet  anxious  to  palliate  it  in  Aldeane's  sight. 
"  Miss  Guthrie,  you  must  not  mind  this  neglect.  I  know 
it  was  not  intentional." 

Aldeane  knew  to  the  contrary,  but  made  no  reply,  and 
turned  away  to  the  school-room,  and  while  she  heard  little 
Jessie  spell,  or  Frank  read,  or  bade  Eddie  cease  crying 
over  a  seemingly  insoluble  sum  in  division,  she  thought 
how  happy  she  was  that  he  was  gone,  and  sincerely 
wished  that  he  would  not  come  back.  Once  or  twice  she 
caught  herself  listening  for  footsteps  below,  and  she 
thought,  as  the  children  mournfully  said, "  that  it  was  very 
lonely,"  but  she  attributed  that  to  the  absence  of  Colonel 
Arendell.  The  house  seemed  really  desolate  without  him, 
it  would  be  as  gay  as  ever  when  he  came  back,  especially 
if  Frederic  Morgan  was  not  with  him.  That  day  for  the 
first  time  since  his  visit,  she  felt  as  happy  and  joyous  as 
of  old,  and  was  indeed  herself  again.  The  next  morning 
having  an  errand  to  the  kitchen,  Aldeane  entered  it,  and 
found  Aunt  Roxy  busily  engaged  in  peeling  peaches  to  dry. 

"  Where  is  Zettie,  Aunt  Roxy,"  she  inquired. 

"Out  'long  wid  de  rest  ob  de  young  niggas,  Miss 
Aldeane,  in  de  orchard  a  gettin'  peaches.  I  neber  did 
see  sich  a  lot  ob  young  rapscallions,  and  Zet  tops  'em  all. 
But  I  'clar  for't,  missie,  ye  looks  a  heap  better'n  you  have 
for  more'n  a  week !  What  has  a  ailed  ye  ?  You've 
looked  so  poor  an'  droopin'  like." 

"  Oh  !  I  have  been  pretty  well,  Aunt  Roxy.  Don't 
say  I  look  sick  now,  for  Mrs.  Arendell  has  just  granted 
the  children  and  me  a  week's  holiday." 

"  Jes'  what  she  orter  done  a  month  ago,"  muttered 
Aunt  Roxy.  "But,  I  say,  Miss  Aldeane,  it's  a  pity 
Mars'r  Frederic  ain't  here  this  week.  You  ain't  had  no 
time  to  talk  to  him  at  all,  an'  you  sich  old  friends,  too. 
Don't  ye  tink  he  am  a  mighty  fine  young  gennelman  ? 
Don't  ye  like  him,  Miss  Aldeane  ?" 


102  ALDEANE. 

"  Oh !  yes,  pretty  well !  I  wonder  why  Zettie  doesn't 
come  ?" 

"  Oh  !  bekase  ob  de  ole  Eboe  blood  in  her !  I  tell  ye 
what  I  tink,  missie,  it  am  my  'pinion  that  dere's  some 
mighty  fine  folks  at  de  North.  Now  you  jes  look  at 
Miss  Idy,  she's  as  good  as  de  day  is  long,  an'  as  purty 
as  de  moon  a  shinin'  in  de  hollors  ob  de  piny  woods, 
so  kind  o'  soft  an'  gentle  like.  Well !  well !  you  should 
ha'  seen  her  when  mars'r  brought  her  home.  She  was 
jes  about  de  same  age  dat  Miss  Nory  am  now,  an'  as 
frolicsome  an'  innocent  as  a  lamb.  When  she  seen  us  a 
standin'  by  the  gate  a-starin'  at  her,  she  blushed  like  a 
scared  chile,  an'  said  to  mars'r :  '  Oh !  John,  do  come 
away !'  but  he  took  her  hand  an'  looked  so  proud  at  her, 
an'  whispered  somethin'  an'  she  blushed  an'  smiled  ag'in, 
an'  he  took  Miss  Nory  out  ob  my  arms,  she  was  a  wee  thing, 
and  I  had  dressed  her  all  up  in  white,  so  that  she  looked 
like  a  little  angel,  and  gave  her  to  Miss  Idy,  sayin',  '  This 
is  my  child.'  Miss  Idy  didn't  say  any  thin',  but  we  all  saw 
by  de  blessed  look  that  came  into  her  eyes,  and  de  tears 
dat  filled  'em  as  she  kissed  the  little  darlin',  that  she  would 
be  a  mother  to  her,  and,  God  bress  her,  she  has  been.  By 
dis  time  all  ob  us  had  crowded  'round  'em,  to  welcome 
'em  home.  Mars'r  told  Miss  Idy  our  names,  an'  she 
spoke  to  us,  so  good  dat  we  lobed  her  from  dat  moment. 
Ah !  dem  was  happy  days,  de  time  when  Miss  Idy  fust 
come !"  and  Aunt  Roxy  shook  her  head  slowly,  while  her 
thoughts  wandered  far  back  into  the  past. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Ida  is  a  good  mistress  to  you,"  remarked 
Aldeane. 

"  Dat's  de  trufe !  an'  Mars'r  Frederic,  bress  his  heart, 
is  jes'  like  her,  if  he  ain't  her  own  bruder.  Yes,  miss, 
Zettie  will  soon  be  a  comin'  along,  don't  you  fret  none 
about  her !  Well !  as  I  was  a  gwine  ter  say,  last  winter 
is  three  years  ago,  sence  he  fust  came  here  ;  dere  had 
been  de  greatest  time  made  about  his  comin',  an'  when 


ALDEANE.  103 

we  seed  him,  we  was  all  mighty  disappinted.  Ye  know 
he  wasn't  sich  a  drefful  hansome  boy,  not  nigh's  good 
lookin'  as  he  is  now,  and  ye  see  we'd  thought  as  how  all 
Miss  Idy's  kin  must  be  purty.  I  was  mighty  riled  'bout 
it,  for  lor',  I'd  done  nothin'  for  weeks  but  talk,  talk, 
talk,  'bout  de  beauty  of  dat  young  gennelman.  May  de 
Lor'  forgi'e  me  for  de  fibs  I  tole  Sal,  who  was  cook  at 
de  Blakeses.  I'd  said  ag'in  an'  ag'in,  dat  none  ob  her 
white  folkses  could  hold  a  can'le  to  him,  an'  bress  your 
heart,  ebery  one  ob  'em,  'cept  Mass'r  Richard,  was  a  heap 
better  lookin'.  I  jes'  was  right  mad  wi'  him,  I  was,  for 
a  foolin'  us  so  much.  But  twarn't  no  use  a  stayin'  mad 
'bout  it,  besides  'twarn't  possible.  When  Mars'r  Fred 
fust  come  he  was  mighty  still  an'  solemn  like,  bein'  a 
stranger,  ye  know,  but  he  soon  got  ober  dat,  an'  long 
afore  he  went  away  he  was  a  cut  tin'  up  ebery  where  ;  out 
a  possum-huntin'  wid  Mars'r  John  an'  de  darkies,  an' 
trackin'  rabbits,  when  we  had  a  snow,  an'  doin'  ebery 
tink  else,  that  was  wild  or  funny.  Sometimes  he  would 
come  in  here  an'  set  all  us  ole  women  a  larfiri',  an'  den 
he'd  go  away  larfin'  hisself  de  loudest  ob  all.  Oh !  I  tell 
you  clem  was  de  times,  dem  was  !"  and  again  the  sway 
ing  of  Aunt  Roxy's  head  denoted  that  reverie  was  lead 
ing  her  back  to  past  scenes. 

"  It  seems  to  me  they  are  a  long  time  getting  the 
peaches.  I  should  think  you  would  not  dry  many  at 
this  rate." 

"  Neder  I  do,  honey  !  an'  dats  jes'  what  Mars'r  Frederic 
said  jes'  before  he  went  away.  Says  he,  'Aunt  Roxy, 
why  don't  ye  keep  dose  youngsters  to  work,  dey're  playin' 
all  de  time,  an'  ye  can't  get  any  ting  done  !' 

"  An'  I  told  him  I  couldn't  do  it,  an'  I  'lowed  as  how 
eberybody  must  play  some  time,  an'  work  some  time." 

" '  That's  so,'  he  said,  '  black  an'  white  too,  in  dere  turn, 
an'  oh  !  Aunt  Roxy,  don't  ye  tink  Miss  Guthrie  works 
mighty  hard  ?' 


104  ALDEANE. 

"'No,  sah,'  says  I,  'de  chillun  worries  her  mighty 
sometimes,  I  s'pose.  But  lor,  Mars'r  Fred,  teachin'  ain't 
hard  work,  leastways  she's  used  to't  I  'spect.' 

"  '  No,'  he  said,  kinder  earnest-like, — '  no,  Aunt  Roxy,  it 
isn't  easy  work,  an'  when  I  knew  Miss  Aldeane,  years  ago, 
she  was  jes'  as  much  ob  a  lady  as  Leonore  is  now.' 

"  Well,  Miss  Aldeane,  I  was  sot  right  back  when  I 
heard  him  say  that,  for  though  I  always  had  thought  you 
was  mighty  smart  and  clever,  I'd  no  idee  you  was  quality. 
So,  I  says, '  Now,  Mars'r  Frederic,  you  don't  say  so.' 

" '  Yes,  I  do  say  so,  Aunt  Roxy,'  he  said,  '  an'  mean  it, 
too.  I  had  no  idee  ob  eber  findin'  her  here.  Don't  yoii 
tink  she  needs  a  holiday  ?' 

" '  Yes,  Mars'r  Frederic,  I  do,'  says  I, '  an'  I  believe  Miss 
Idy  would  a-given  her  one,  if  she'd  noticed  how  missuble 
she's  looked  for  a  week  or  more,'  for,  indeed,  Miss  Guth- 
rie,  you  habn't  looked  like  yourself. 

" '  Well,  auntie,'  says  he,  '  we  musn't  let  Miss  Aldeane 
get  sick  over  her  task,  and  as  a  particular  favor  to  me  do 
all  you  can  for  her  in  ebery  way,  while  she  stays  here.' 
Dem  was  his  bery  words,  an'  den  lie  walks  slow  an' 
thoughtful-like  away  from  de  kitchin,  wid  his  head  a 
hangin'  down,  an'  a  bitin'  his  fingers,  as  if  he  was  tinkin' 
mighty  hard. 

"  Dat  ebenin',  as  I  was  a-sittin'  under  de  big  mimosa,  at 
de  end  ob  de  porch,  I  seen  Miss  Idy  an'  Mars'r  Fred,  an' 
de  chillun  all  a  sittin'  dere.  Purty  soon  he  took  Miss 
Jessie  on  his  knee  an'  axed  her  if  she  didn't  want  a  holi 
day  ?  O'  course  she  said  Yes,  she  did,  mighty  bad,  an' 
Frank  called  out  that  he  wanted  to  go  shootin,'  an'  Eddie 
muttered  sometin'  'bout  wishin'  dere  warn't  no  books,  an' 
wantin'  to  get  shet  ob  'em  for  awhile  any  how.  Mars'r 
Fred,  he  larfed,  an'  said  to  Jessie,  '  You  go  ober  to  yer 
ma,  an'  ax  her  in  your  prettiest  way,  to  let  you  hab  a 
holiday.'  So  de  dear  little  ciitter  did  so,  an'  Miss  Idy 
said, '  Oh,  Fred,  you  are  a  spilin'  dese  chillun  !'  an'  gave 


ALDEANE.  105 

her  a  kiss,  an'  said,  '  yes,  darlin',  you  can  all  have  a  holi 
day  next  week. 

«"  '  Leonore  must  have  a  rest  too,'  he  said.  Miss  Idy 
larfed,  an'  said  *  Yes.' 

"  '  Dere,  now,'  said  Mars'r  Frederic,  *  you  is  all  dis 
solved  from  study  next  week,  run  now  as  fast  as  you 
kin  and  tell  Miss  Aldeane.' 

"  De  way  dey  went  wasn't  slow.  So  now  you  see,  Miss 
Aldeane,  'twas  all  along  of  Mars'r  Frederic  dat  ye  got 
dis  holiday,  an'  I  seen  his  face  by  de  moonlight  when  he 
got  it  for  ye,  an'  he  was  smilin'  so  kinder  pleased,  ye 
don't  know.  Oh !  I  tell  you,  Mars'r  Frederic  am  a  gen- 
nelman,  an'  a  good  one  too." 

"  It  certainly  was  very  kind  of  him,"  said  Aldeane,  her 
heart  swelling  at  this  unexpected  kindness.  She  won 
dered  at  his  motive  for  evincing  such  interest  in  her  wel 
fare  to  others,  while  to  her  he  seldom  even  spoke.  These 
thoughts  perplexed  her,  while  Aunt  Roxy,  garrulously 
repeated  her  opinion  of  "  Mars'r  Frederic,"  and  of  North 
ern  people  in  general.  She  did  not  perceive  that  she  was 
not  listened  to,  and  was  rather  surprised  when  she  heard 
Aldeane  leave  the  kitchen,  bidding  her  send  Zettie  to  her 
when  she  came  in. 

"  Well,  I  'clar  for't,"  observed  the  cook,  shaking  her 
gayly-turbaned  head  eagerly,  "I  do  b'lieve  Miss  Al- 
deane's  sick  or  somethin',  I  never  seed  a  lady  act  so  queer 
in  all  my  days  afore.  Lor',  lor,' "  she  added,  with  a 
thoughtful  frown,  "  dat  ar  face  ob  hers  do  seem  like  a 
dream  to  me,  like  one  ob  dem  dreams  dat  comes  in  de 
mornin'  when  a  body's  thinkin'  ob  gettin'  up ;  one  ob 
dem  dreams  dat  keeps  in  a  body's  head  all  de  day." 

5* 


CHAPT  ER    XIII. 

* 

A   TRUCE    PROCLAIMED. 

IN  a  few  days  there  was  a  marked  change  in  Aldeane's 
appearance,  caused,  she  said,  to  all  that  commented  there 
on,  by  freedom  from  teaching,  and,  as  she  told  herself,  by 
the  absence  of  Mr.  Morgan.  Perhaps  the  communication 
of  Aunt  Roxy  was  not  without  its  eft'ect,  at  least,  she 
owned  to  herself,  that  it  had  softened  her  feelings  toward 
her  old  acquaintance,  but  not  so  much  so  but  that  she 
still  felt  his  absence  a  relief,  when  one  day,  at  the  end  of 
her  week's  holiday,  she  set  out  on  foot  for  Loring,  prefer 
ring  to  accomplish  the  journey  afoot,  at  the  risk  of  some 
fatigue,  rather  than  any  of  the  children  should  accompany 
her,  as  they  would  surely  wish  to  do,  if  she  went  in  the 
carriage.  Nearly  the  whole  way,  the  road  lay  through 
thick  woods ;  it  was  shady  and  cool,  and  the  distance  was 
soon  accomplished.  She  entered  the  post-office,  mailed 
her  letters,  and  received  one  from  Belle.  As  she  turned 
to  leave,  she  perceived  that  the  evening  stage  had  arrived. 
Casting  a  careless  glance  toward  it,  to  her  great  surprise, 
she  saw  Mr.  Morgan  alight.  She  supposed,  that  Colonel 
Arendell  would  follow,  but  she  looked  in  vain.  Mr.  Mor 
gan  was  alone.  At  sight  of  him,  all  her  misgivings  re 
turned  with  double  force.  She  again  entered  the  office, 
hoping  he  had  not  noticed  her.  She  was  disappointed  ; 
he  had  seen  her,  and  entering,  accosted  her  with  a  formal 
bow  and  an  inquiry  after  her  health  and  that  of  the 
family,  adding : 

"  You  came  in,  in  the  carriage,  I  suppose  ?" 


ALDEANE. 

"  No,  sir ;  I  walked  in,"  she  replied. 

"  Did  you  ?  How  very  foolish,  such  a  warm  day 
too!"  he  returned,  a  vexed  yet  solicitous  expression 
passing  over  his  face. 

"  I  am  sorry,  sir  !  If  you  had  written,  a  conveyance 
would  have  been  in  waiting  for  you,"  she  answered. 

"  I  know  that !  The  fact  is  it  was  so  dull  at  Raleigh 
that  I  made  up  my  mind  to  leave  Arendell  there  and 
come  home ;  and  now  I  find,"  he  added  ruefully,  "  that  I 
have  to  walk  there.  I  suppose  you  will  allow  me  to  ac 
company  you  ?" 

"  I  believe  there  is  but  one  road  to  Arendell,  sir,"  she 
said  coldly. 

"  Ah  !  I  suppose  that  means,  that  you  will  submit  to 
it  as  a  necessity,  or,  that  you  have  no  objection  if  I  will 
wait  for  you.  How  long  will  my  patience  be  tried  ?  It 
will  endure  a  long  time." 

"  I  was  about  to  leave,  when  you  arrived." 

"  If  that  is  to  signify  that  you  are  ready,"  said  he, 
"  let  us  be  going.  It  is  five  o'clock  now ;  they  will  be 
expecting  you  home  soon." 

They  sauntered  slowly  down  the  street  and  turned 
into  the  road,  neither  uttering  a  word.  Just  as  Aldeane 
was  becoming  weary  of  the  protracted  silence,  Mr.  Mor 
gan  said  : 

"  You  have  a  letter  there,  I  see." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Why  don't  you  read  it  ?" 

"  I  don't  suppose  it  is  of  much  consequence.  I  see  it 
is  from  Belle  ;  and  of  course  I  would  not  read  it  in  your 
company,  without  your  permission." 

"  You  have  it,"  he  replied,  a  sarcastic  expression  dis 
torting  his  features.  "  You  must  suffer  martyrdom,  in 
being  so  long  deprived  of  the  continuation  of  the  last 
edition  from  Boston." 

"  I  presume,  I  am  not  half  so  anxious  to  know  the 


108  ALDEANE. 

news,  as  you  are  yourself!"  she  thought,  as  without 
further  hesitation  she  broke  the  seal,  and  was  soon  en 
gaged  in  perusing  the  many  pages  of  the  letter.  They 
were  soon  finished,  carefully  refolded,  and  returned  to 
the  envelope.  For  some  time  they  continued  to  walk  on 
in  silence.  Mr.  Morgan's  brow  darkening  at  every  step, 
and  Aldeane's  face  became  still  more  deeply  enshrouded 
in  the  veil  of  thought.  Some  distance  was  thus  traversed. 
"  Well !"  thought  Aldeane,  "  I  can  keep  silent  as  long 
as  you,  sir.  I  wonder  how  long  that  will  be  ?' 

The  question  was  presently  answered  by  Mr.  Morgan's 
exclaiming  :  "  Why  do  you  not  speak,  Miss  Guthrie  ?" 

Aldeane  thought  she  might  have  retorted  with  the  same 
qitery,  but  she  said,  "  I  was  waiting  for  you  to  speak 
first,  besides,  I  did  not  know  what  to  say  !" 

"  For  the  first  time  in  your  life  then,  I  guess !  I  re 
member,  you  used  to  be  very  talkative  yeai-s  ago.  But 
tell  me  the  news,  if  there  is  any!  What  does  Belle 
write  ?" 

"  Well !  for  one  thing,  she  expressed  astonishment  at 
your  being  Mrs.  Arendell's  brother,  and  that  you  should 
be  visiting  here.  Then,  she  gives  a  description  of  her 
trip,  during  which,  she  met  Miss  Greyson,  who  seemed 
to  be  in  better  health  than  usual." 

"  Any  thing  else  ?" 

"Nothing  particular,  sir.  She  said  that  Arthur  and 
Chester  Halcombe  would  commence  practicing  this  fall, 
and  that  Annie  said  you  were  going  to,  bu^t  that  she 
doubted  it." 

"No  wonder!  I  have  been  idle  so  long,  but  I  am 
going  to  make  up  for  lost  time,  and  cure  every  sick  man, 
woman,  or  child,  in  Boston  and  for  ten  miles  around,  this 
next  winter.  Is  there  nothing  else  ?" 

"Merely  a  rumor  that  Mr.  Nevins  is  about  to  be 
married." 

"  Ah !  and  how  would  that  affect  you,  Miss  Guthrie  ?" 


ALDEANE.  109 

"  It  would  produce  no  effect,  sir !  Still  I  scarcely 
believe  it.  But  at  any  rate,  Mr.  Nevins  and  myself  are 
as  little  interested  in  each  other,  as  if  we  had  never  been 
acquainted." 

"  Ah !  that  is  strange  ;  your  step-father  too  !  What 
has  caused  this  rupture  ?"  ^ 

"  Our  bonds  of  affection  were  never  very  strong ;  and 
by  a  rude  blow  they  were  severed.  'Tis  the  old  tale  of 
oppression  and  injustice  !  Nothing  more." 

"  Nevertheless,  Miss  Guthrie,  it  is  a  new  edition.  If  I 
am  not  intruding  on  strictly  family  secrets,  you  would 
oblige  me  very  much  by  giving  it." 

"  I  will  do  so  certainly,  if  you  wish  it ;  but  remember, 
if  I  weary  you  with  a  long  story,  that  you  brought  the 
infliction  upon  yourself." 

She  then  narrated  as  briefly,  as  quietly,  and  calmly  as 
was  possible,  the  event  of  her  mother's  death,  and  those 
following  it. 

"  Good  Heavens !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Morgan,  as  she 
concluded.  "  It  seems  almost  impossible  that  such,  men 
can  exist !  You  are  agitated  by  this  narration !  I  do 
not  wonder  at  it.  Oh  !  what  darkness  must  have  hung 

O 

over  those  dread  days  !  How  you  must  have  suffered  ! 
May  the  vengeance  of  God  speedily  overtake  the  vile 
oppressor.  I  know  that  it  eventually  will !  Ah  !  Miss 
Guthrie,  this  partly  explains  your  conduct  toward  me  !" 

"  I  believe,  sir,"  returned  Aldeane,  haughtily,  "  that  my 
conduct  has  befitted  my  station.  At  least,  I  have  en 
deavored  to  make  it  do  so !" 

"  Ah !  Miss  Guthrie,  can  you  never  forget  that  you  are 
my  sister's  governess,  as  I  continually  do  ?  And — " 

"  As  you  never  do,  sir  !"  she  interrupted,  passionately, 
her  cheeks  crimsoning  with  excitement.  "  Do  you  think 
that  I  am  a  block  of  sculptured  marble,  passionless  and 
dead,  that  I  can  not  see  how  in  every  action  you  exhibit 
the  opinion  you  entertain  of  me  ?  I  do  not  think  one 


110  ALDEANE. 

thought  of  the  grief  which  you  know  oppresses  me  ever 
troubles  you.  Your  desire  for  a  story  has  been  gratified; 
do  not  urge  me  to  speak  further !" 

"  I  will  not,  Miss  Guthrie,"  returned  Mr.  Morgan, 
calmly.  "  You  are  mistaken  in  me.  I  think  of  you  often, 
and  with  sorrow.  I  can  n$>t  but  compare  the  mirthful, 
gentle  girl  I  left  little  more  than  two  years  ago,  with  the 
passionate  creature  that  walks  by  my  side  so  fiercely  now. 
What  though  sorrow  has  come  upon  you !  what  though 
injustice  has  despoiled  you !  should  you  doubt  old  friends, 
who,  with  kind  hearts  and  hands,  would  greet  you  ?  This 
shows  not  the  trusting  heart  of  woman.  Save  in  person, 
I  can  not  recognize  the  Aldeane  Guthrie  of  years  ago ; 
even  that  is  sadly  changed.  The  forehead,  once  so  white 
and  smooth,  is  clouded,  the  eyes  are  ireful,  the  lips  scorn 
ful,  and  wearing  alone  the  old  look  of  determination, 
which  was  always  too  strongly  marked ;  no  smiles  linger 
upon  them  now.  Your  mourning  garb  seems  even  to  en 
shroud  your  spirit ;  the  sunshine  of  God  never  seems  to 
fall  upon  it.  Ah !  Miss  Guthrie,  this  is  wrong  !" 

"  Do  not  reprove  me,  Mr.  Morgan !"  murmured  Aldeane, 
her  lips  quivering  nervously. 

"  Even  my  friendship,"  he  continued,  bitterly,  "  you 
have  doubted  and  cast  away.  When  I  again  proffered 
it,  it  was  rejected  with  disdain.  My  interest  in  you  fails 
not ;  yet  of  what  avail  is  it  ?  To  you  it  is  worthless  be 
cause  it  comes  from  an  old  source." 

"  Ah !  Mr.  Morgan,  you  do  not  understand  my  feel 
ings  !" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Guthrie,  I  do  !"  he  answered,  stopping  sud 
denly  beneath  a  large  oak-tree,  for  they  were  near  Aren- 
dell  House.  "  Rest  a  moment,  and  I  will  tell  you  what 
they  are.  Love  of  approval ;  shame  of  your  position  in 
life ;  and  pride — that  false  pride  that  lives  in  the  hearts 
of  all,  and  predominates  over  the  good  feelings  of  many. 
I  have  spoken  truly,  Aldeane !  and  how  unworthy  are 


ALDEANE.  Ill 

those  feelings  of  the  brain — I  will  not  say  of  the  heart, 
for  that  still  is  good — that  contains  them." 

Aldeane  felt  that  his  words  were  true.  She  wept  vehe 
mently  in  sorrow  and  shame.  Mr.  Morgan  looked  upon 
her  with  an  expression  at  once  mournful  and  stern ;  yet 
seemingly  pleased  at  this  outburst  of  feeling. 

"  Calm  yourself,  Miss  Guthrie,"  he  said  at  length,  "  and 
tell  me,  have  I  not  spoken  truly  ?  I  think,  even  now,  I 
see  the  Aldeane  of  old  appearing.  The  foul  spirit — what 
else  can  I  call  it  ? — which  has  so  long  possessed  you  is 
exorcised.  Have  I  spoken  truly  ?" 

"  Yes ;  oh  yes  !"  came  in  broken  murmurs. 

"Let  us  walk  on,  Miss  Guthrie;  there  is  a  branch  a 
short  distance  from  here.  You  look  faint ;  some  water 
will  refresh  you.  Lean  upon  me !" 

Aldeane  heeded  him  not,  but  hurried  onward.  When 
she  reached  the  water,  she  knelt  down,  and,  with  hyster 
ical  sobs,  leaned  over  the  bank  and  bathed  her  heated 
face ;  the  cold  water  refreshed  her.  Glancing  up,  she  saw 
Mr.  Morgan  standing  at  her  side,  his  eyes  filled  with  ten 
derness,  looking  sorrowfully  upon  her.  "  You  are  calmer 
— better?"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  she  returned,  rising.  "  I  have  been  foolish 
and  very  wrong  !  I  have,  indeed,  doubted  the  friendship 
of  all ;  but  it  is  my  nature  !  What  can  I  do  ?" 

"  Atone  for  your  past  coldness  by  accepting  me  for 
a  friend  now,  Aldeane,"  he  answered.  "  Will  you  do 
it?" 

"  Gladly !"  she  replied,  blushing,  and  smiling  sweetly. 
"  I  feel  that  you  are  my  friend,  for  you  have  restored 
me  to  myself.  I  know  now  that  the  change  for  which  I 
have  accused  you,  has  been  in  myself — in  the  bitterness 
and  selfishness  of  my  heart.  I  shall  never  doubt  you 
again." 

"  Thank  you  !  thank  you  !"  he  said.  "  But,  Aldeane, 
you  shall  not  slander  yourself!  I  should  not  be  a  true 


132  ALDEANE. 

friend  to  allow  that.  Come,  it  is  time  to  pursue  our  way. 
The  sun  is  casting  his  last  rays  over  us." 

She  walked  beside  him  silently,  with  a  strange  happi 
ness  at  her  heart,  though  her  brain  was  busy  with  a  thou 
sand  painful  thoughts.  They  were  soon  at  the  bend  of 
the  road,  on  turning  which  they  would  be  in  sight  of 
Arendell  House. 

"  Miss  Aldeane,"  said  Mr.  Morgan  smiling,  "  you  once 
refused  to  shake  hands  with  me.  Will  you  do  so  now, 
and  thereby  ratify  your  contract  of  making  me  your 
friend?" 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Morgan !"  and  Aldeane  gladly  ex 
tended  her  hand,  which  he  clasped  warmly,  saying ;  "  I 
know  sister  Ida  was  shocked  at  my  neglect  of  the  cere 
mony  the  other  day,  but  you  know — ,"  his  brow  darken 
ing,  "  that  it  is  bad  for  the  hand  to  go  where  the  heart  is 
not !  Hillo  !  Frank  !"  as  they  turned  the  corner  and  saw 
that  young  gentleman  with  an  admiring  crowd  of  juven 
iles,  both  white  and  black  around  him,  preparing  to  fire 
at  a  dead  crow,  which  had  been  set  up  as  a  target.  Frank 
deliberately  discharged  his  piece,  then  turned  toward 
them,  while  Jessie  and  Eddie  ran  to  meet  them,  the 
former  exclaiming : — 

"  Oh  !  here's  Miss  Aldeane  and  Uncle  Fred !  Why ! 
how  d'ye  do,  uncle  ?" 

"  Oh,  right  smart !  my  little  Carolinian,  and  how  do 
you  come  on  ?"  he  replied,  laughing,  as  he  caught  her  in 
his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"  What  did  you  come  home  so  soon  for  ?"  said  Eddie. 

Frank  who  had  approached  them,  demanded  eagerly, 
"  Where  is  pa  ?  He  promised  to  bring  me  a  bran  new 
rifle  !  Hasn't  he  come  ?" 

"  The  fact  is,"  returned  Mr.  Morgan  gravely,  yet 
scarcely  able  to  repress  a  smile  at  their  naive  greetings, 
"he  couldn't  get  a  rifle  to  suit  in  Raleigh,  so  he  has 
gone  farther  north  for  one." 


ALDEANE.  113 

"  I  don't  believe  it !"  said  Frank,  decidedly,  marching 
up  the  steps  of  the  piazza,  which  they  had  now  reached, 
while  Jessie  ran  into  the  house,  calling  loudly :  "  Ma ! 
ma !  Uncle  Fred  has  come  home,  and  he  says  papa  has 
gone  farther  north !" 

"  What  is  that  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Arendell,  appearing. 
"  Why !  Fred,  how  are  you  ?  How  did  you  come  home  ? 
John  isn't  sick  ?  Is  he  ?" 

"  One  question  at  a  time !"  replied  Mr.  Morgan,  em 
bracing  her.  "  Your  last  shall  be  answered  first.  John 
is  well.  I  left  him  at  Raleigh.  It  was  so  dull  there,  that 
I  knew  I  should  enjoy  myself  better  here.  I  came  as  far 
as  Loring  in  the  stage,  there  I  met  Miss  Guthrie,  and  I 
came  home  with  her." 

Wishing  to  escape  observation,  Aldeane  entered  the 
house.  In  the  hall  she  encountered  Leonore,  who  glanced 
at  her  inquiringly.  "Mr.  Morgan  has  come,"  she  said, 
and  passed  on.  Leonore  ran  out  to  the  piazza. 

After  the  first  greetings  were  over,  she  said :  "  What  is 
the  matter  with  Aldeane  ?  I  thought  I  saw  traces  of 
tears  upon  her  face." 

"  Oh  !  she  is  very  lachrymose !"  replied  Mr.  Morgan. 
"  There  may  have  been  some  bad  news  in  her  letter." 

"  She  has  changed  greatly  of  late !"  said  Mrs.  Arendell. 
"  Frederic,  you  don't  treat  her  well.  You  did  not  even 
shake  hands  with  her  when  you  left." 

"  I  was  in  a  hurry,  ma  soeur  /  that  must  be  my  apology. 
Excuse  me  I  must  go,  and  rid  myself  of  some  of  this 
dust.  What  awful  roads  you  do  have  here,  Ida  !"  He 
sprang  lightly  up  the  stairs.  Aldeane,  in  her  own  room, 
happier  far  than  usual,  heard  his  quick  step;  and  felt 
that  his  presence  filled  the  void  which  she  had  felt  in  the 
house,  during  his  absence. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

ALDEASTE    LEARXS    A    SECRET. 

A  FEW  plain  words  fearlessly  spoken,  caused  a  great 
change  in  Aldeane's  feelings  and  actions.  She  was  pro- 
vokingly  conscious  that  the  former  had  been  mawkishly 
sentimental,  and  childish,  and  the  latter  scarcely  less  so. 
This  perhaps  for  a  few  days  induced  her  to  maintain 
much  of  her  former  reserve,  but  much  to  the  gratification 
of  Mrs.  Arendell  and  Leonore,  a  growing  friendship 
between  Mr.  Morgan  and  the  governess  soon  became 
evident,  and  upon  Colonel  Arendell's  return  from  Raleigh 
with  the  new  rifle  Frank  had  coveted,  and  numerous  gifts 
for  the  rest  of  the  family,  he  declared  that  home  had 
never  been  so  delightful,  for  mirth  and  gladness  truly 
filled  the  house. 

The  hours  of  evening,  which  had  formerly  been  spent 
by  Aldeane  in  moodiness  and  gloom,  in  the  solitude  of 
her  own  chamber,  were  now  passed  in  the  parlor  with  the 
cheerful  family.  She  sang  with  Mr.  Morgan  the  old 
songs  that  had  been  his  favorites  in  by-gone  years.  There 
was  a  serene  happiness  at  her  heart  in  those  moments ; 
her  pride  and  self-esteem  were  gratified  ;  she  was  consid 
ered  an  equal,  and  treated  as  such,  and  often  as  a  loved 
and  near  friend.  This,  to  Aldeane,  was  happiness.  Xo 
longer  was  Mr.  Morgan  mute  or  cold  toward  her;  he 
seemed,  indeed,  to  find  his  greatest  pleasure  in  calling 
forth  the  rare  powers  of  her  mind.  She  had  read  much 
and  carefully,  and  had  garnered  a  store  of  knowledge  un 
usually  large  for  one  of  her  years.  His  seemed  to  be  the 


ALDEANE.  115 

hand  that  could  most  easily  unroll  the  cerements  of  dif 
fidence  that  enshrouded  them,  and  bring  her  varied  learn 
ing  and  talents  forth.  She  seemed  to  live  in  a  brighter 
world.  She  had  known  little  care  or  sorrow  during  her 
residence  at  the  South,  but  her  happiness  had  been  pas 
sive  and  changeless ;  now  it  was  varying,  yet  intense. 
Hitherto  she  had  dwelt  in  the  moon-lit  tranquillity  of 
night ;  now  she  walked  in  the  busy  avenues  of  life,  over 
which  the  king  of  day  threw  his  brilliance. 

This  was  the  tenor  of  her  thoughts  one  bright  after 
noon,  as  she  left  the  house  and  set  forth  to  visit  a  sick 
woman  that  dwelt  in  a  little  cabin  on  the  estate.  "  Yes !" 
she  soliloquized,  "  Frederic  Morgan  is  the  same  genial, 
pure-hearted  gentleman  as  of  old,  but  I  was  so  much 
changed  !  and  I  fear  I  still  am.  I  know  I  am  proud,  but 
that  is  my  nature.  It  existed  always ;  circumstances 
have  lately  called  it  forth.  I  wonder  when  Mr.  Morgan 
intends  to  return  to  the  Xorth  ?  Oh !  it  will  be  so  lonely 
here  without  him !" 

"  Ah !  Miss  Aldeane,  where  are  you  going  to  ?"  ejacu 
lated  a  voice  behind  her. 

Turning  suddenly,  the  saw  the  subject  of  her  thoughts 
standing  before  her,  his  face  flushed  with  exercise,  his 
hat  in  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  tossed  back  his 
damp  hair  from  his  temples.  She  blushed  deeply,  almost 
fearing  that  he  knew  of  what  she  had  been  thinking,  and 
he  repeated  his  question  before  she  found  voice  to  an 
swer,  "To  Granny  Bray's." 

"  Ah !  to  Granny  Bray's,  are  you  ?  You  seem  to  re 
member  the  injunction : — 

'Be  a  nurse  to  the  sick;  to  the  erring  a  guide ; 
Be  a  friend  to  the  poor;  let  this  be  thy  pride. 
Then  shall  thy  pathway  through  life  be  so  bright, 
That  angels  shall  see  it,  and  smile  with  delight.1 

If  this  be  true,  and  if  you  have  any  pity  for  the  most  mis- 


116  ALDEANE. 

erable  specimen  of  humanity  that  you  ever  beheld,  let  me 
go  with  you." 

"  Certainly !     But  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  sir  ?" 

"  The  matter,  did  you  say  ?"  he  queried  ruefully. 
"  Well !  I'll  forgive  the  question !  Perhaps  you  have  not 
noticed  the  doings  at  the  house  lately  ?" 

"  All  seems  to  go  on  about  as  usual,  I  think." 

"  Now,  Miss  Aldeane !  This  afternoon,  feeling  deci 
dedly  gracious  and  communicative,  I  entered  the  sitting- 
room.  What  was  my  annoyance  to  find  Ida  overcome 
with  the  heat,  or  laziness,  which  is  about  the  same  thing, 
reclining  on  the  sofa,  fast  asleep,  and  Jessie  upon  the 
floor  in  the  same  state.  I  heard  Leonore  playing  mo 
notonously  upon  the  piano  in  the  parlor.  I  went  in, 
hoping  to  find  her  ready  to  desist,  but  she  only  played 
on  all  the  faster,  and  exclaimed,  '  Oh  !  Uncle  Fred,  don't 
interrupt  me,  I  must  practice !'  So  I  went  out  to  find 
Arendell  or  the  boys,  but  they  were  invisible.  I  looked 
around  for  you,  but  you  were  nowhere  to  be  seen.  I 
asked  Jule  where  you  were.  'She's  gone  up  de  mill 
road,  sah ;  bin  gone  'bout  ten  minutes  !'  I  ran  down  the 
walk,  jumped  over  the  fence,  to  save  time,  in  my  haste 
nearly  fell  through  a  hole  in  the  bridge,  and  have  nearly 
expended  all  my  breath  in  running  up  hill  and  shouting 
to  you  to  stop." 

"  Yours  is  a  sad  case !"  she  replied,  laughingly.  "  I  fear 
you  are  becoming  restless :  North  Carolina  has  no  charms 
for  you." 

"  It  contains  one  too  great — too  great,"  he  returned,  ve 
hemently  ;  then  added,  slowly,  while  his  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  sands  at  his  feet.  "  What  do  you  think  of  it  ? 
Would  you  not  like  to  return  to  Boston?" 

"  Yes  !  yes,  indeed  !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  Aldeane,  then — "  He  paused  suddenly,  an  ex 
pression  of  pain  passing  over  his  face,  as  he  turned  aside 
to  let  her  enter  the  cottage,  which  they  had  now  reached. 


ALDEANE.  117 

An  old  woman  lay  upon  the  bed,  another  was  busying 
herself  about  the  room,  both  welcomed  Aldeane  heartily. 
She  spoke  to  the  sick  woman,  and  when  Mr.  Morgan, 
constituting  himself  her  physician,  sat  down  beside  her, 
she  turned  to  address  the  other.  There  was  a  loom  in 
the  room,  and  the  woman  was  standing  before  it,  striving 
to  reduce  to  order  a  mass  of  complicated  threads.  Al 
deane  watched  her  for  some  time,  and  then  said, 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Sarah  ?' 

"  Putting  in  a  piece,  Miss  Aldeane.  It's  for  Miss  Aren- 
dell.  Somehow  her  yarn  always  does  work  mighty  ill ; 
'tain't  dyed  well,  neither." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  it,  Sarah  ?" 

"  Laws  a  massy,  Miss  Aldeane,  I  can't  tell  exactly, 
only  I  know,  'twon't  wear  well.  Now,  your  folks  should 
dye  yarn  like  I  do ;  I've  just  made  John  a  new  suit  of 
clothes,  and  if  you  was  to  meet  him  in  the  road,  you 
would  take  him  for  a  gentleman." 

"  Indeed,  what  did  you  dye  with,  Sarah  ?" 

"  Well,  Miss  Aldeane,  I'll  give  you  the  recipe.  I 
wanted  to  dye  this  yarn,  so  I  called  to  Uncle  Sandy — 
that's  our  old  black  man,  you  know — and  says  I  to  him, 
'  Uncle  Sandy,  I  want  you  to  go  into  the  woods  and  get 
me  some  bark  to  dye  with.' 

" '  What  kind  of  barks,  missus  ?'  says  he. 

" '  Why,  you  know  what  kind  of  barks,  Uncle  Sandy.' 

"  '  Why,  no  I  don't,  missus.' 

"  '  Why,  Uncle  Sandy,  yes  you  do  !' 

"  '  I  declar',  missus,  I  don't.' 

" '  Now,'  says  I,  '  Uncle  Sandy,  don't  you  tell  me  that 
again ;  you  go  and  get  me  the  same  kind  of  bark  your 
own  clothes  is  dyed  with.' 

"  So  he  went  and  got  me  the  barks,  and  I  dipped  the 
yarn,  and  wove  the  cloth,  and  made  John  a  suit  of 
clothes,  and  I  do  declar',  if  you  was  to  meet  him  in  the 
road,  you'd  take  him  for  a  gentleman." 


118  ALDEANE. 

"  Is  that  all  you  did,  Sarah  ?"  asked  Aldeane,  scarcely 
able  to  repress  a  smile. 

"  That's  all,  miss,  and  I'll  be  bound  them  colors  will 
last  after  every  stitch  of  the  cloth  is  worn  out." 

"  Are  you  ready  to  go  ?"  asked  Mr.  Morgan,  in  a  low 
voice,  and  with  a  humorous  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  shall  be  in  a  few  moments."  She  spoke  a  few  words 
to  the  sick  woman,  bade  her  and  Sarah  farewell,  and  left 
the  cottage,  followed  by  Mr.  Morgan. 

"  I  hope  you  know  how  to  dye  yarn,"  he  said,  as  soon 
as  they  were  out  of  sight  of  the  cottage,  laughing  heartily. 
"  I  shall  have  to  repeat  that  recipe  for  Ida's  edification." 

Aldeane  laughed,  and  then  said  gravely,  "  I  fear  old 
granny  will  soon  die  !" 

"  Yes,"  returned  Mr.  Morgan,  "  she  is  sinking  fast,  over 
come  with  the  infirmities  of  old  age.  But  perhaps  the 
grave  will  be  to  her  the  entrance  into  a  glorious  life." 

"I  believe  so,  indeed,"  returned  Aldeane:  and  then 
they  talked  of  death  as  something  very  dreadful,  and 
very  near  at  hand,  as  young  people  sometimes  do,  even 
when  it  seems  utterly  impossible  that  it  should  come  to 
them,  and  this  led  them  to  speak  of  other  partings — 
earthly  partings  ; — and  of  the  changes  which  often  pre 
vented  the  meeting  of  friends  who  had  separated  under 
even  most  promising  circumstances ;  and  Aldeane  remem 
bering  his  parting  from  his  father,  and  attributing  the 
increasing  sadness  of  his  tone  to  that,  sympathized  with 
him  deeply,  until  all  feeling  for  others  was  swept  away 
by  a  new  feeling,  as  he  said :  "  And  speaking  of  partings, 
Miss  Guthrie,  do  you  know  that  I  shall  leave  for  Boston 
in  a  few  days  ?" 

She  felt  that  she  could  not  speak,  that  her  voice  would 
utterly  fail  her,  yet  fearing  to  attract  his  attention  by 
silence,  she  faintly  murmured :  "  Shall  you,  indeed  !" 

He  looked  at  her,  oh,  so  strangely — that  her  heart 
fluttered  wildly  even  while  she  dared  not  hope  his  words 


ALDEANE.  119 

would  be  other  than  they  were.  "  Yes,  I  am  tired  of 
this  place ;  tired,  tired."  Suddenly  adding,  passionately : 
"  God  help  me,  I  must  go  !" 

"  And  you  feel  sorry  to  leave  us  ?"  she  asked,  scarce 
knowing  what  she  said. 

"  Oh,  Aldeane !  Aldeane !  this  is  torture,"  he  exclaimed, 
and  then  he  compressed  his  lips  as  if  in  terror  at  the 
unguarded  utterance. 

She  glanced  at  him  in  trembling  surprise,  and  was 
shocked  to  see  how  pale  he  was ;  he  trembled  too  from 
head  to  foot,  and  seemed  to  be  endeavoring  to  compose 
himself,  by  bracing  his  muscles,  clinching  his  teeth,  and 
biting  his  shapely  nails  back  to  the  very  quick. 

"  Oh  !  would  to  God  that  he  suffered  this  for  me,  for  I 
love  him !  I  love  him  !"  was  the  voiceless  cry  of  her 
heart.  "  But  oh  !  this  agony  is  not  for  me !  It  must  be 
Leonore  he  loves,  and  why  not  ?  She  is  good  and  beau 
tiful  ;  no  real  relationship  exists  between  them.  Oh ! 
why  has  this  come  upon  me  ?  for  I  love  him — I  love 
him !" 

She  hurried  on  impetuously,  while  Mr.  Morgan  me 
chanically  kept  pace  with  her.  Her  brain  seemed  on 
fire  and  her  heart  throbbed  wildly.  They  reached  the 
bridge ;  overcome  by  her  emotions  she  could  proceed  no 
farther,  but  leaned  against  the  railing  for  support.  Mr. 
Morgan,  glancing  at  her,  saw  the  weary  motion  and 
burning  cheek  ;  his  lips  pai-ted  as  if  to  speak,  he  turned 
toward  her,  but  with  a  deep  sigh  he  checked  the  move 
ment  and  hurried  away. 

Despair  laid  his  hand  upon  Aldeane's  heart ;  she  did 
not  faint  or  cry ;  but  stood  there  to  think,  and  to  drive 
back  to  her  heart's  deepest  recesses  the  love  that  she 
could  not  eradicate. 

Not  long  did  she  remain  there.     When  Mr.  Morgan 
had  disappeared  she  went  eagerly,  wildly,  in  the  dire 
tion  of  the  house.     Upon  reaching  it,  she  ran  quickly  u 


120  ALDEANE. 

the  stairs  to  her  own  room.  In  the  upper  hall  s^e  met 
Leonore,  who  asked,  "  How  is  Granny  ?" 

"  Worse,"  she  replied,  passing  the  inquirer  with  a  feel 
ing  of  repugnance,  almost  deepening  into  hatred  in  her 
heart.  Leonore  turned  in  surprise  at  the  short  answer ; 
but  Aldeane  had  disappeared,  and  the  closing  of  her  door 
loudly,  and  the  harsh  grating  of  the  key  in  the  lock, 
denoted  that  she  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed.  Leonore 
passed  on  wondering  what  had  happened.  She  remem 
bered  the  flushed  cheeks  and  burning  eyes.  "  It  must  be 
something  of  great  importance,"  she  thought,  but  could 
not  imagine  what. 

Aldeane  pacing  her  apartment  rapidly,  felt  in  her  in 
most  soul  what  despairing  love  was.  "  Oh  !  that  I  could 
die  now  !  Oh  !  that  I  should  be  passed  by  for  Leonore — 
Leonore,  who  loves  him  not."  Soon  her  frame  became 
exhausted  with  this  passionate  energy  of  thought  and 
action.  Burning  thoughts  passed  through  her  mind, 
searing  their  impress  upon  her  heart.  Tearless  she  stood 
at  her  window,  and  saw  Mr.  Morgan  and  Leonore,  arm- 
in-arm,  pass  beneath ;  with  a  cry  of  anguish  she  threw 
herself  upon  the  bed  to  sob  tearlessly.  Her  mind  and 
heart  seemed  striving  to  break  their  bonds.  She  prayed 
to  die  e'er,  by  any  untoward  action,  she  betrayed  this 
agonizing  love,  that  racked  her  being,  and  the  jealousy 
that  was  maddening  her.  With  the  gray  shadows  of 
evening  came  calmer  thoughts,  and  better.  Kneeling, 
she  prayed  for  strength  and  consolation,  as  she  had 
never  petitioned  before.  She  arose  comforted,  and  with 
relief-giving  tears  coursing  over  her  cheeks.  She  was 
unable  to  appear  at  the  tea-table,  but  later  in  the 
evening  entered  the  parlor.  All  seemed  much  concerned 
at  her  pallor  and  evident  suffering.  Mrs.  Arendell 
mentioned  many  remedies  for  severe  headache,  under 
which  they  supposed  she  suffered;  but  Mr.  Morgan, 
Aldeane  thought,  greeted  her  with  a  peculiar  expression 


ALDEANE.  121 

of  interest  and  sympathy.  "  Has  he  guessed  my  secret  ?" 
asked  her  heart,  throbbing  wildly.  The  reply  came 
quickly,  "  No ;  but  he  has  discovered  that  he  is  not  loved 
by  Leonore !" 

She  excused  herself  at  an  early  hour.  As  she  left  the 
room,  she  heard  Mrs.  Arendell  say,  "  Fred,  Miss  Guth- 
rie's  health  has  been  miserable  of  late.  I  believe,  I  shall 
have  to  send  her  North  with  you  !  Perhaps  that  would 
cure  her." 

With  her  foot  upon  the  stairs,  Aldeane  listened  for  his 
answer,  but  it  came  not,  and  with  a  sigh  she  passed  on. 
She  did  not  see  the  spasm  that  contorted  his  features,  nor 
guess  the  agony  that  made  his  heart  stand  still  at  the 
jesting  words. 

The  next  morning  at  the  breakfast-table,  Mr.  Morgan 
announced  his  intention  of  returning  to  Boston  on  the 
morrow,  giving  as  his  reasons,  that  his  mother  and 
Annie  Greyson  having  returned  to  Morganvale,  they 
would  consider  him  neglectful,  if  he  longer  absented 
himself;  and  also,  that  it  was  positively  time  that  he 
should  commence  the  practice  of  his  profession.  In  these 
opinions  all  concurred,  and  an  early  day  was  set  for  his 
departure.  Before  any  one  could  notice  the  agitation, 
that  it  was  impossible  for  Aldeane  to  conceal,  she  arose 
from  the  table,  reminded  Leonore  that  it  was  time  for  her 
music  lesson,  and  left  the  room.  It  was  some  time  before 
she  was  joined  by  her  pupil,  and  in  the  interval,  she  had 
gained  strength  to  quell  the  angry  and  jealous  thoughts 
with  which  she  regarded  her,  and  gave  her  instructions 
more  silently,  but  as  amiably  as  usual. 

She  thought  she  perceived,  what  was  doubtless  true, 
that  the  thought  she  held  concerning  Mr.  Morgan  and 
Leonore,  had  presented  itself  to  other  minds,  and  to  a 
suspicion  of  its  truth,  she  attributed  Mrs.  Arendell's 
evident  pleasure,  that  her  brother's  visit  was  not  to  be 
prolonged,  and  the  colonel,  who  was  not  apt  to  conceal 

G 


122  ALDEANE. 

what  was  passing  in  his  mind,  more  than  once  uttered 
laughing  objections  to  the  long  walks  which  the  twain 
took  together,  saying  they  would  fancy  themselves 
cousins,  or  perhaps  mere  strangers  by  and  by.  Morgan 
was  too  agreeable  by  half,  to  be  the  uncle  of  a  pretty 
young  lady. 

All  this  in  jest  to  Mrs.  Arendell  and  Aldeane,  yet 
the  latter  at  least  fancied  there  was  a  deep  vein  of 
earnestness  in  what  he  said,  and  thought  it  indeed  so 
long  and  constantly,  that  her  jealousy  gave  place  to 
pity,  and  had  it  been  possible,  she  would  gladly  have 
destroyed  the  bond  of  connection,  if  not  relationship, 
which  she  supposed  alone  prevented  Frederic  Morgan 
from  asking  the  hand  of  Leonorc  in  marriage. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

A   SECOXD   SECRET  TOLD. 

DURING  this  time,  Aldeane  was  still  occasionally  pur 
sued  by  the  distasteful  attentions  of  the  ex-overseer, 
who,  although  he  seldom  advei*ted  to  any  knowledge  he 
might  have  of  her  antecedents,  did  not  fail  upon  every 
opportunity  to  represent  the  advantages  she  would  gain 
by  an  alliance  with  him. 

He  seldom  spoke  to  her  in  the  house,  for  it  was  not 
often  that  an  opportunity  to  do  so  presented  itself,  but 
he  apparently  dogged  her  footsteps  when  abroad,  and 
she  almost  feared  to  enter  a  secluded  place,  lest  his  hated 
face  should  peer  in  upon  her,  and:  his  sinister  eyes  bring 
distrust  and  terror  to  her  soul. 

Having  one  afternoon  gone  up  the  river  to  search  for 
wild  flowers,  she  met  her  persecutor  almost  upon  the 
very  spot  upon  which  had  occurred  their  first  memorable 
interview.  Again  he  spoke  to  her  of  love,  when  indig 
nantly  refusing  to  answer  him,  she  turned  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  house,  and  walked  hurriedly  away,  command 
ing  him  not  to  follow.  A  command,  which  the  direction 
she  had  taken,  left  him  no  alternative  but  to  obey. 

Oh,  how  hateful  this  pursuit  was  to  her !  When  she 
was  out  of  sight  and  hearing  of  her  tormentor,  she  burst 
into  tears,  and  sobbed  aloud  that  "  this  should  be 
stopped,  she  would  call  Colonel  Arendell  to  her  aid,  as 
soon  as  Mr.  Morgan  was  gone." 
»  There  was  a  rustling  in  the  bushes,  they  parted,  and 


124  ALDEANE. 

the  person  she  had  last  named,  gun  in  hand,  and  with  a 
string  of  birds  at  his  belt,  stood  before  her. 

"  Pardon  me,  Aldeane,"  he  said  in  great  agitation, 
before  she  could  recover  from  the  surprise  and  dismay 
into  which  his  unexpected  presence  had  thrown  her. 
"Pardon  me,  Aldeane,  I  was  just  now  the  unwilling 
spectator  of  a  scene  which  seemed  to  distress  you 
greatly.  Aldeane,  my  soul  recoils  from  the  indignity 
that  was  offered  you — you,  my  love,  my  own." 

His  feelings  had  apparently  mastered  his  discretion, 
for  with  but  one  glance  at  the  joy  which  revealed  itself 
in  her  face,  he  turned  from  her,  and  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

Aldeane  was  motionless  from  very  joy.  He  loved  her 
— not  Leonore,  but  .her  very  self.  She  looked  at  him 
with  burning  blushes,  and  unconsciously  his  name  fell 
from  her  lips. 

He  turned  to  her  then,  with  a  passion  she  could  not 
mistake.  Yes,  he  loved  her.  But  these  were  not  the 
words  he  said.  No,  he  threw  himself  at  her  feet,  praying 
her  forgiveness,  wildly  telling  her  that  she  had  won  his 
heart,  while  his  hand  was  promised  to  another. 

She  had  not  told  him  that  she  loved  him.  Even  in 
the  agony  his  words  brought  her  she  remembered  that, 
and  yet,  he  knew'  it,  and  believing  that,  all  her  pride  fled, 
and  she  leaned  against  a  tree  and  wept  bitterly. 

In  an  instant  be  stood  beside  her.  "  Aldeane,"  he  cried, 
"  whom  I  have  so  unhappily  deceived,  whom  I  brought 
forth  from  your  haughty  reserve,  out  of  mere  idleness, 
to  such  a  bitter  end  as  this,  believe  me,  until  now  I  have 
not  known  my  own  heart,  else,  God  knows,  I  would  not 
so  bitterly  have  wounded  yours.  And  yet,"  he  added, 
eagerly,  "  perhaps  you  have  guessed — perhaps  you  know 
I  am  engaged  to  marry  Annie  Greyson." 

"Annie  Greyson!  Annie  Greyson!"  she  repeated, 
vacantly.  "  Your-  pretty  cousin." 


ALDEANE,  125 

"  Yes,  my  pretty  cousin,"  he  echoed  bitterly.  "  Can 
you  not  guess,  Aldeane,  how  it  was  brought  about — you 
know  I  never  loved  her — but  my  father  did.  He  had 
loved  her  mother,  they  say,  long  before  he  married  mine. 
She  was  his  cousin,  so  you  see  his  ward  Annie,  is  but  a 
distant  relation  to  me.  Before  I  left  for  Europe  he 
disclosed  to  me  a  notable  plan  for  enriching  his  pretty 
darling.  I  was  to  marry  her.  I  jestingly  told  him  I  would 
think  of  it,  and  upon  the  same  day,  I  remember,  appro 
priated  your  portrait  which  Miss  Ashton  showed  me.  I 
did  not  mean  then,  Aldeane,  to  be  false  either  to  you  or 
Annie.  I  did  not  even  know  then,  that  it  was  you  I 
loved,  though  my  God,  with  what  bitterness  I  know  it 
now." 

Aldeane  was  by  this  time  listening  to  him  tearlessly, 
and  with  all  her  powers  of  attention  concentrated  upon 
the  simple  tale  he  told. 

"  I  had  scarcely  reached  England,"  he  continued, 
"  when  news  of  my  father's  death  reached  me,  together 
with  a  letter  which  he  directed  to  be  sent  to  me,  in  case 
of  such  an  event  suddenly  taking  place.  Therein  he 
instructed  me  to  remain  in  Europe  the  time  he  had 
appointed,  and  begged  me  to  enter  at  once  into  an  en 
gagement  of  marriage  with  Annie  Greyson,  and  to  fulfill 
the  same  immediately  upon  my  return  to  America." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Aldeane,  in  a  low  voice,  pressing 
her  hand  upon  her  heart.  "  You  were  an  obedient  son." 

"  I  loved  my  father,"  said  Mr.  Morgan,  as  if  she  had 
not  spoken.  "I  did  not  trouble  myself  to  search  my 
heart,  and  failed  to  read  its  secrets  at  a  single  glance. 
'  Your  cousin  will  make  an  estimable  wife,'  said  my  con 
fidant,  George  Raymond.  I  suggested  that  he  loved  her 
himself,  but  he  replied,  in  his  old  way,  that  he  should 
never  marry.  Therefore  I  wrote,  offering  my  hand,  and 
heart  too,  I  think,  to  my  cousin,  and  was  accepted." 

"  Tell  me  no  more,"  said  Aldeane,  turning  toward  him 


126  ALDEANE. 

suddenly,  with  pale  and  resolute  face.  "  You  have  said 
too  much  already ;  you  are  to  marry  your  cousin." 

"  No !"  he  exclaimed,  passionately,  "  she  loves  me  no 
more  than  I  do  her.  Aldeane,  I  love  you,  madly.  Be 
my  wife — the  wife  of  a  poor  man ;  for  I  will  give  up  all 
my  property  to  Annie  Greyson,  and  entreat  her  to  release 
me." 

A  sudden  hope  darted  into  Aldeane's  heart.  This  con 
templated  marriage,  this  union  of  strangers,  might  be  as 
obnoxious  to  Annie  Greyson  as  to  Frederic  Morgan  him 
self.  Was  it  not  right  that  he  should  offer  her  her  free 
dom  ;  and,  upon  such  generous  terms,  would  she  not 
accept  it  ?  And  so,  when  he  repeated,  again  and  again, 
"  Would  you  marry  me — a  poor  man  ?"  she  sank  into  his 
arms  and  whispered,  "  Yes." 

But  in  an  instant  she  remembered  that  he  was  not 
free,  and  tore  herself  from  his  embrace,  and  entreated 
him  to  remember  it  also,  to  be  himself  generous  and  hon 
orable,  that  she  might  have  strength  to  act  generously 
and  honorably  also. 

And  then,  as  he  poured  forth  a  thousand  assurances 
that  Annie  did  not  love  him,  that  she  would  gladly  re 
lease  him,  there  came  upon  her  a  conviction  that  she  would 
not  do  so ;  that  the  pretty,  frivolous  doll,  would  hold  him 
to  his  engagement ;  that  she  would,  at  all  hazards,  gain 
the  height  of  her  ambition  by  becoming  the  mistress  of 
Morganvale,  as  the  wife  of  its  possessor. 

This  Aldeane  said  to  him,  not  ungenerously,  but  im 
puting  to  Annie  Greyson  such  motives  as  might  rule  even 
a  noble-hearted  woman ;  and  while  she  did  not  combat 
his  intention  of  asking  his  release  from  his  engagement, 
for  both  heart  and  mind,  as  much  for  Annie  Greyson's 
sake  as  for  their  own,  approved  of  that,  she  insisted  her 
name  should  not  be  mentioned,  and  that  it  should  not  be 
even  implied  that  he  was  loved  by  another ;  that  Annie 
Greyson's  generosity  should  be  asked  for  himself  alone ; 


ALDEANE. 

and  not  even  for  himself  if  it  should  appear  that  she  her 
self  loved  him. 

"  No,  I  will  tell  her  the  truth,"  replied  Frederic  Mor 
gan,  again  and  again.  "  I  will  give  her  my  wealth,  and 
toil  for  you,  my  darling.  You  will  not  be  afraid  ?" 

"  Afraid  !  with  him  ?"  She  did  not  speak,  but  her  eyes 
revealed  to  him  the  inquiry  of  her  heart,  and  its  confident 
reply.  But  when  she  spoke,  it  was  only  to  softly  say 
farewell,  and  that  she  had  no  hope,  "  For  you,  I  know, 
will  do  as  I  have  asked — no  more." 

"Aldeane,"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly,  with  a  despair 
which  revealed  to  her  that  his  opinions  were  like  hers. 
"Aldeane,  why  will  you  not  suffer  me  to  break  my  fool 
ish  vow  ?  She  does  not  love  me,  and  I  shall  die  without 
you !" 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  as  he  clasped  her  hands 
to  his  breast  and  uttered  these  wild  entreaties :  "  I  love 
you  now,"  she  said.  "I  should  not  tell  you  so,  but  I 
do.  I  love  you, — no,  do  not  touch  me — but  I  can  not 
purchase  happiness  at  the  price  of  hers  or  of  your  dis 
honor." 

He  pressed  his  hands  over  his  face,  and  groaned  aloud. 
"  Then  there  is  no  hope,"  he  muttered.  "  Aldeane  !  Al 
deane  !  I  will  do  as  you  have  said,  but  mine  will  be  a 
ruined  life." 

"  And  what  of  mine  ?"  she  asked  herself,  wildly ;  but 
to  him  she  only  said,  "  You  will  not  write  to  me,  Fred 
eric,  if  this  is  our  farewell.  You  will  spare  me  further 
grief!" 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms ;  but  she  tore  herself  away, 
and  rushed  from  the  place,  fearing  to  stay,  fearing  her 
wayward  heart,  fearing  him. 

She  hastened  to  the  house,  and  to  her  own  chamber, 
the  door  of  which  she  locked  and  barred,  doubly  eager  to 
keep  out  any  chance  intruder.  She  had  not  taken  with 
her  hope;  she  was  quite  certain  that  this  love  she  had 


128  ALDEANE. 

won  would  be  claimed  by  another ;  and,  throwing  her 
self  upon  her  bed,  she  wept  such  tears,  and  breathed  such 
prayers,  as  man  never  sees,  or  hears,  and  the  omniscient 
God  but  seldom,  even  though  to  Him  all  agony  is 
known. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

DOUBT  BECOMES  CERTAINTY. 

MRS.  ARENDELL  had  invited  a  few  friends  to  meet  Mr. 
Morgan  that  evening,  it  being  the  last  of  his  stay  with 
them.  Although  Aldeane  had  hastened  to  her  room, 
and  passed  the  last  hours  of  day  in  grief  too  deep  for 
tears,  she  knew  that  her  presence  would  be  expected  in  the 
parlor;  so,  after  performing  a  far  more  elaborate  toilet 
than  usual,  she  repaired  thither,  as  the  company  were 
beginning  to  arrive.  Mr.  Morgan  was  there,  receiving 
the  guests  with  what  Aldeane  readily  saw  was  an 
assumed  gayety.  Mrs.  Arendell  and  Leonore  were  de 
lighted  at  his  gay  sallies  and  quick  repartees,  and  joined 
in  speaking  of  his  happy  disposition  and  cloudless  tem 
perament  to  her  who  knew,  too  well,  that  all  his  mirth 
was  feigned.  Following  his  example,  with  a  violent 
effort,  she,  too,  became  unusually  merry,  replying  most 
graciously  to  the  compliments  of  Mr.  Blake  and  Mr. 
Lounsberry,  raising  in  the  bosoms  of  both  gentlemen 
hopes  doomed  to  be  most  cruelly  disappointed.  She 
sang  more  sweetly,  and  played  more  brilliantly  than  ever 
before,  almost  deceiving  Mr.  Morgan  with  her  well- 
feigned  gayety.  They  appeared  to  be  the  happiest  of 
the  throng,  imparting  mirth  and  joyousness  to  all,  while 
their  hearts  were  dying  within  them.  At  a  late  hour, 
when  they  had  gone  to  their  apartments,  this  feverish 
excitement  passed,  and  a  night  of  unrest  succeeded. 
The  dawn  Avas  welcomed  eagerly  by  both,  for  though  it 
brought  the  doom  of  parting,  even  that  was  better  than 
6* 


130  ALDEANE. 

to  be  near  one,  whom  'twas  sin,  yet  impossible,  not  "to 
love. 

After  an  early  breakfast,  the  family  all  gathered  upon 
the  front  porch,  to  see  Mr.  Morgan  off.  His  adieus  to 
all  were  affectionate,  and  at  last  he  turned  to  Aldeane, 
who  leant  against  a  pillar,  breathless  and  tearless.  She 
saw  that  he  was  very  pale,  that  passionate  love  beamed 
in  his  eyes.  He  took  her  nerveless  hand  in  his  fevered 
one,  and  endeavored  to  speak,  but  words  came  not. 
Then  pressing  her  closely  to  his  wildly  beating  heart, 
with  his  eyes,  full  of  love  and  despair,  fixed  upon  hers,  he 
kissed  her  lips  passionately,  once — twice — then  leaving 
her  half  fainting,  rushed  away,  leapt  into  the  carriage, 
in  which  Colonel  Arendell  was  waiting  ;  the  impatient 
horses  sprang  forward,  and  in  a  moment  they  were  gone. 

Aldeane  watched  his  departure  with  tearless  eyes,  and 
an  agonized  despairing  glance,  as  if  her  last  earthly  joy 
was  being  tossed  on  foaming  billows,  and  borne  far  away 
from  her  sight,  to  be  buried  in  the  fathomless  ocean  of 
eternity.  As  the  carriage,  with  its  cherished  occupant, 
sped  from  her  sight,  the  ovei'-strung  tension  of  her 
nerves  gave  way,  and  with  a  low  moan  of  pain,  she 
threw  herself  upon  a  chair  at  Leonore's  side,  who  bend 
ing  over  her,  exclaimed : — 

"  Mamma !  mamma !  Miss  Aldeane  is  fainting !  She  is 
very  sick!" 

Mrs.  Arendell  had  been  somewhat  surprised  at  the 
strange  pai-ting  between  her  governess  and  her  brother, 
though  she  had  not  noticed  the  agonized  expression  upon 
the  faces  of  both.  She  had,  however,  dismissed  the 
matter  with  the  thought,  '"Tis  only  Fred's  nonsense, 
and  they  are  such  old  friends,  of  course  there  is  nothing 
in  his  kissing  her.  One  can  never  account  for  half  of 
Fred's  deeds." 

At  Leonore's  exclamation  she  turned,  and  was  much 
alarmed  to  see  Aldeane  apparently  very  ill. 


ALDEANE.  131 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Aldeane  ?"  she  ask,ed,  anxiously. 

Uncle  Adam  was  passing.  Obeying  Mrs.  Arendell's 
directions,  lie  lifted  Aldeane  as  if  she  were  an  infant,  and 
carried  her  to  her  chamber.  Kind  hands  soon  disrobed 
her,  and  thoroughly  exhausted,  she  sank  upon  the  downy 
pillows  of  her  couch.  For  days  the  room  was  darkened, 
and  Zettie,  with  noiseless  feet,  waited  upon  the  sufferer. 
The  doctor  pronounced  her  illness  to  be  a  low  nervous 
fever,  and  recommended  perfect  quiet.  His  instructions 
were  obeyed,  and  three  weeks  afterward,  for  the  first 
time,  she  was  taken  in  an  easy  chair  to  the  window,  and 
looked  languidly  out  upon  the  scene,  which  had  greatly 
changed  during  her  illness*  Summer  had  passed.  The 
forests  had  donned  their  autumnal  garb,  and  swayed  in 
the  cool  breezes  that  herald  the  approach  of  winter. 
Aldeane  sighed  as  she  thought  of  the  dreary  winter 
that  was  stealing  the  freshness  and  joy  thus  early  from 
her  life;  but  she  felt  that  there  was  still  some  beauty 
left,  and  bearing  the  soft  tints  of  love,  but  the  more 
decided  one  of  life's  reality.  Daily  after  this  she  sat  at 
the  window  learning  lessons  of  contentment;  applying 
the  balm  of  heavenly  consolation  to  her  bruised  heart. 
She  had  heard  that  Mr.  Morgan  had  reached  home,  and 
had  made  preparations  to  begin  the  practice  of  his  pro 
fession.  She  had  heard  nothing  of  his  proposed  mar 
riage,  and  wondered  if  it  would  indeed  take  place,  and 
when  she  would  be  called  upon  to  lay  her  heart's  idol 
upon  the  altar  of  sacrifice.  One  day  feeling  unusually 
strong,  and  having  a  strong  desired  to  mingle  with  the 
family;  she  slipped  out  of  her  room,  in  Zettie's  absence, 
and  astonished  them  by  appearing  at  the  sitting-room 
door.  Colonel  Arendell  sprang  forward,  and  with  an 
exclamation  of  pleased  surprise,  led  her  to  a  seat,  at  the 
same  time  pushing  away  the  children,  who  would  have 
gathered  round  her.  Mrs.  Arendell  was  very  apprehen 
sive  that  she  had  done  wrong,  yet  was  greatly  pleased  to 


132  ALDEANE. 

have  her  once  more  with  them.  The  children  were 
allowed  to  kiss  her  once,  then  playfully,  but  decisively 
turned  out  of  the  room  by  Colonel  Arendell,  that  she  might 
have  quietness.  Leonore  shook  up  the  sofa-cushions, 
and  arranged  them  invitingly,  and  overcome  by  exertion, 
Aldeane  sank  gratefully  upon  them. 

"  I  believe,"  said  Colonel  Arendell,  offering  her  a  glass 
of  wine,  "  that  we  shall  have  to  send  you  North  for  a 
change." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  shall  remain  here.  I  shall  soon  be  well," 
she  answered,  quickly. 

"  Well,  as  you  please,  my  dear ;  I  am  glad  you  are  so 
contented.  I  don't  believe  you  have  been  long  reconciled 
to  this  life." 

"  John,"  interposed  Mrs.  Arendell,  reprovingly,  "  you 
know  that  if  Aldeane  has  rather  imprudently  ventxxred 
down,  that  she  is  far  from  well.  We  must  not  let  her 
talk  too  much ;  she  can  listen  to  us,  but  not  exert  herself. 
Doctor  Grey  especially  forbade  that  when  he  was  here 
to-day." 

"  De  mail,  Mass'r  John,"  said  Jule,  entering  with  some 
letters  in  his  hand,  which  he  gave  to  Colonel  Arendell ; 
who,  glancing  at  their  superscriptions,  said,  "  One  for  you, 
Ida." 

Mrs.  Arendell  was  soon  eagerly  pei-using  its  contents ; 
when  finished,  she  passed  it  to  her  husband,  saying,  from 
Frederic,  and  picking  up  her  sewing,  began  the  work 
with  a  look  of  preoccupation  upon  her  countenance.  She 
did  not  notice  tha^Aldeane's  eyes  were  fixed  wistfully 
upon  her  face,  and  when,  glancing  up,  she  caught  the 
mournful  look,  she  asked : — 

"  Do  you  want  any  thing,  Aldeane  ?" 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  she  replied,  removing  her  gaze  from 
Mrs.  Arendell  to  the  colonel,  who,  having  finished  the 
letter,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  as  if  ready  to  converse. 

«  Well—"  said  Mrs.  Arendell. 


ALDEANE.  133 

"  I  think  it  is  the  best  thing  he  can  do,"  returned  the 
colonel. 

"  So  do  I.  They  have  been  engaged  quite  long  enough ; 
and  they  are  both  old  enough  to  marry.  I  am  glad  that 
it  is  really  decided  upon  at  last." 

"  Oh,  ma,"  exclaimed  Leonore,  "  is  Uncle  Fred  going 
to  be  married  soon  ?" 

"  Probably,  in  a  month  or  two." 

"  Well,  I  am  so  glad ;  I  shall  see  a  little  of  the  world 
at  last.  I  have  never  even  been  to  a  party  yet." 

"  And  sixteen  years  old !"  ejaculated  the  colonel,  as  if 
horrified.  "  Only  think  of  it,  sixteen  years  old,  and  never 
been  to  a  party.  Sixteen !" 

"  And   a  month,  pa !"   cried  Leonore,  eagerly. 

Her  father  laughed,  saying,  "  Well,  Nora,  I  promise 
gayety  enough  for  you  this  winter." 

"  Fred  says  that  Annie  is  a  very  pretty,  pleasant  girl," 
said  Mrs.  Arendell,  musingly.  "  He  told  me  the  evening 
before  he  left,  that  he  should  be  married  soon,  if  Annie 
would  consent.  I  hadn't  a  doubt  but  that  she  would,  and 
told  him  so.  He  seemed  quite  excited  about  it.  I  was  a 
little  surprised,  as  he  always  seemed  so  indifferent  before." 

"Perhaps  he  was  afraid  some  one  else  might  step  in 
and  carry  off  the  prize,"  observed  Colonel  Arendell. 

"  Annie  is  very  accomplished,"  continued  Mrs.  Aren 
dell,  "  though,  Fred  says,  not  at  all  brilliant.  I  wish  she 
had  a  little  more  depth  of  character.  I  know  she  would 
suit  him  better.  But  they  say  she  is  amiable  ;  so,  no 
doubt,  they  will  get  on  together  splendidly." 

"  You  will  have  to  practice  well,  Leonore,"  said  he^ 
father,  "  before  you  go  North.  Don't  let  the  Boston 
belles,  or  beaux  either,  think  that  my  little  daughter 
knows  nothing." 

"  I  will  try  not  to.  But,  oh,  dear !  there  will  be  such 
a  heap  of  things  to  do  before  we  can  go.  Such  lots  of 
dresses  to  get,  and " 


134  ALDEANE. 

"  Don't  worry  yourself,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Arendell, 
laughing  at  Leonore's  anxiety,  "  a  few  days'  shopping  in 
New  York  will  set  us  all  right.  Frederic  says  Annie  in 
tends  to  ask  you  to  be  a  bridemaid — think  of  that !" 

"  Oh,  that  is  delightful !  so  very  kind  in  her,  too,  when 
she  never  saw  me  in  her  life.  What  shall  I  wear,  ma  ? 
And  pa,  you  must  get  me  some  pearls !  Bridesmaids  al 
ways  wear  pearls,  you  know." 

"  You  are  never  contented  without  a  draft  upon  my 
purse,"  returned  her  father,  laughing  ;  "  but  you  shall 
have  them,  little  lady.  Is  there  any  thing  else  the  brides 
maids  always  have  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  lots  of  things ;  but  when  must  we  go  ?  when 
are  they  to  be  married  ?" 

"  On  the  twenty-first  of  November." 

A  faint  moan  from  Aldeane  arrested  their  attention. 
They  turned,  and  were  frightened  to  see  the  blue-veined 
lids  closing  languidly  over  her  brown  eyes,  and  her  mouth 
fixed  rigidly. 

Colonel  Arendell,  springing  forward,  dashed  some 
water  on  her  pale  face,  while  Mrs.  Arendell  exclaimed, 
"How  imprudent !  Now,  this  is  a  week's  relapse." 

Her  words  were  true.  Aldeane  was  borne  to  her  cham 
ber,  from  which  she  did  not  again  descend  until  the  dreary 
November  days  with  their  chilly  rains,  were  upon  them. 
Then  the  school-room  had  again  its  mistress,  and  Leonore 
was  relieved  from  the  wearisome  task  of  teaching  her 
young  brothers  and  sister,  and  turned  to  the  more 
agreeable  one,  of  preparing  for  her  journey  North.  Col- 
>nel,  Mrs.  Arendell,  and  Leonore,  alone  were  going, 
leaving  Aldeane  alone  with  the  children.  She  was  glad 
of  the  half  solitude  their  absence  would  give,  and  looked 
calmly  upon  the  preparations  made  for  the  celebration  of 
that  event  which  would  separate  her  forever  from  that 
heart  upon  whose  inmost  tablet  her  image  was  indelibly 
graven. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

A   MOMENTOUS    INTERVIEW. 

IT  was  upon  one  evening,  when  Aldeane  Guthrie  lay  at 
the  worst  point  of  the  fever  which  had  attacked  her,  that 
many  hundred  miles  distant  her  fate  was  considered  and 
decided. 

Frederic  Morgan  had  reached  his  home  the  day  before, 
where  his  mother  and  Annie  Greyson  were  expecting  him 
— the  first  most  anxiously,  and  the  latter  with  that  grace 
ful  indifference  which  was  her  chief  characteristic.  Both 
were  somewhat  surprised  at  his  excitability,  and  neither 
were  inclined  to  like  the  change  which  had  been  appar 
ently  wrought  in  him  by  his  two  years  of  travel.  But 
they  naturally  attributed  his  nervousness,  and  the  sudden 
changes  in  his  mood  from  silence  to  almost  uproarious 
mirth,  to  his  return  to  a  home  whence  had  been  removed 
a  beloved  father,  and  where  a  lovely  bride  awaited  him. 

For  Annie  Greyson  was  undeniably  beautiful,  as  he 
said  to  himself  as  he  entered  the  parlor  the  second  even 
ing  after  his  return  home,  and  saw  her  sitting  near  the 
fire,  an  almost  miniature  representative  of  loveliness  and 
fashion. 

He  had  asked  her  to  meet  him  there,  but  as  she  lan 
guidly  raised  her  blue  eyes  to  his  face,  there  was  no  look 
of  curiosity,  or  that  warmer  feeling  which  should  have 
kindled  within  them.  She  did  not  rise,  but,  as  he  stood 
before  her,  motioned  him  to  a  seat  at  the  opposite  side  of 
the  grate,  and  observed  that  it  was  very  cold  for  the 
season. 


136  ALDEANE. 

He  did  not  take  the  proffered  seat,  nor  immediately  an 
swer  her ;  but,  leaning  against  the  mantel,  looked  down 
upon  her. 

First,  he  thought  how  different  would  have  been  his 
greeting  if  the  plainly-robed  form  of  her  he  loved  were 
seated  before  him,  instead  of  this  silken-dressed  doll, 
with  her  ribbons  and  laces  and  perfumes.  Yet,  though 
she  seemed  to  him  then  a  thousand  times  more  frivolous 
than  ever  before,  he  was  not  iinjust  to  her ;  he  believed 
her  possessed  of  the  simple  vanity  of  a  child,  but  not  for 
an  instant  of  the  ambition  of  a  somewhat  unscrupulous 
woman. 

She  toyed  lightly  with  a  rosebiid  which  she  held  in  her 
hand,  and  yawned  slightly  behind  her  laced  handkerchief 
as  he  looked  at  her,  glancing  furtively  once  at  a  long 
mirror  which  reflected  her  person,  and  with  the  thought 
that  blue  became  her  admirably,  and  that  she  was  look 
ing  unusually  well,  decided  that  her  lover's  first  words 
would  be  a  compliment ;  she  started,  therefore,  when  he 
at  last  said,  gravely: — 

"  Annie,  I  have  asked  you  to  meet  me  here,  that  we 
may  speak  seriously  together  concerning  our  contem 
plated  marriage." 

She  blushed  very  prettily,  as  she  glanced  at  him  for 
one  instant.  "  Indeed,  Frederic,"  she  said,  at  last,  "  I 
had  much  rather  that  you  should  settle  all  that  with  your 
dear  mamma ;"  adding,  inaudibly,  "  I'm  sure  I  shall  have 
enough  to  do  to  see  to  my  wardrobe.  Yes,  I'm  quite 
decided.  I  will  wear  white  satin  instead  of  moire  an 
tique." 

"  Annie,"  answered  Frederic,  quite  unconscious  of  these 
last  thoughts,  "  too  much  of  what  has  passed  between  us 
has  been  managed  by  other  people." 

"  Dear  uncle  was  so  thoughtful,"  murmured  Annie. 

Frederic  Morgan  bit  his  lips,  and  looked  at  her  askance. 
"  Give  me  your  whole  mind  and  attention,  Annie,  for  a 


ALDEANE.  137 

few  minutes,"  he  cried,  suddenly.  "  This  is  no  child's 
play,  Annie.  Tell  me,  had  I  come  to  you  a  stranger,  poor 
and  friendless,  would  you  have  married  me  ?" 

She  was  actually  startled — perhaps  more  by  his  excited 
manner  than  by  his  words,  unexpected  though  they  were 
— but,  after  a  moment's  pause,  she  answered,  with  perfect 
serenity : — 

"  You  know,  Fred,  I  should  never  have  thought  of  any 
thing  so  improper.  I'm  quite  grieved  that  you  should 
think  it  possible." 

"  That  being  the  case,"  exclaimed  Frederic,  "  you  will 
be  quite  contented  to  find  yourself  mistress  of  Morgan- 
vale  without  the  incumbrance  of  a  husband." 

Then  she  looked  at  him  in  perfect  and  undisguised 
amazement. 

"I'm  sure,"  she  stammered,  at  length,  uttering  the 
words  which,  of  all  others,  he  dreaded  to  hear,  "  if  you 
think  that  you  would  be  an  incumbrance,  you  are  much 
mistaken.  I  am  sure  you  will  be  an  admirable  husband, 
and  I  will  try  to  please  you  in  every  way." 

"  That  I  do  not  doubt,"  he  exclaimed,  in  great  agita 
tion  ;  "  but  believe  me,  Annie,  it  is  as  much  for  your  sake 
as  mine  that  I  beg  you  to  consider  deeply  before  you 
fulfill  the  contract  into  which  you  were  forced  by  my 
father." 

"  Oh,  indeed,  Frederic,  he  behaved  in  a  most  gentle 
manly  manner,"  returned  Annie,  in  a  mildly  persuasive 
tone.  "  Now,  pray  don't  worry,  Fred,  and  think  that  I 
have  been  forced  to  marry  you  by  a  tyrannical  guardian, 
for  I'm  sure  I  always  thought  you  very  nice." 

It  almost  maddened  him  to  hear  her  prattle  thus,  with 
much  more  to  the  same  purpose.  How  childishly  selfish 
she  was.  Would  she  never  think  that  he,  perhaps,  had 
been  forced  into  this  marriage  if  she  had  not. 

"  Annie,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "  you  have  honored  me  by 
saying  that  this  marriage  is  not  distasteful  to  you,  while 


138  ALDEANE. 

you  have,  at  the  same  time,  given  me  abundant  proof 
that  your  affections  would  receive  no  shock  if  it  never 
was  solemnized.  I,  unfortunately,  can  not  be  so  indiffer 
ent." 

She  looked  up  at  him  curiously. 

"  Annie,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  forgive  me,  Annie, 
I  love  another." 

He  had  expected  a  burst  of  passionate  tears,  of  cutting 
reproaches,  scorn,  hatred,  any  thing  but  the  charming 
pout  of  the  red  lips  as  she  answered,  "  I  really  think  that 
very  wrong  of  you,  Frederic.  Such  a  shame  as  it  was  in 
you  to  deceive  a  poor  girl  so  !" 

"  Deceive  her !"  he  cried,  passionately.  "  Indeed,  I  did 
not  deceive  her !  It  was  not  in  my  power  to  do  so.  My 
love  was  uncontrollable.  Even  while  I  was  praying  for 
strength  to  hide  it,  it  burst  from  my  lips,  and  all  my  tale 
of  love  .and  despair  was  told." 

"  Dear  me,  that  was  so  unfortunate,"  said  Annie,  as  if 
lie  were  speaking  of  one  in  whom  she  was  very  slightly 
interested.  "  And  what  is  the  young  lady's  name ;  and 
where  does  she  live  ?" 

He  flushed  redly,  and  answered  quickly:  "That  I 
can  not  tell  you,  Annie,  and  it  is  quite  certain,  if  you  will 
not  release  me  from  my  engagement  without  that  knowl 
edge,  you  would  not  with  it." 

She  looked  at  him  from  beneath  the  golden  lashes  of 
her  eyelids  with  the  prettiest  show  of  playful  curiosity, 
as  she  said  :  "  It  is  really  unkind  of  you  not  to  tell  me. 
If  I  had  had  a  little  flirtation  in  your  absence,  I  assure 
you  I  would  have  told  you  the  gentleman's  name  and 
all  about  him." 

"  I  do  not  doubt,  Annie,  that  you  were  far  more  faith 
ful  than  I,"  he  cried  in  desperation.  "  But  I  swear  to 
you  I  intended  to  fulfill  the  promise  I  made  you." 

"  Intended  to  ?"  she  asked,  arching  her  eyebrows. 

"  And  if  you  hold  me  to  my  engagement,  after  all  I 


ALDEANE.  139 

have  said,"  he  continued,  "  I  will  be  to  you  a  kind  and 
faithful  husband.  But  Annie,  Annie,  my  heart  is 
another's,  but  leave  me  free,  to  dispose  of  that  as  I  wish, 
and  I  will-  gladly  give  to  you  the  deeds  of  the  houses  and 
lands  which  have  caused  this  trouble." 

Annie  arose  from  her  seat,  and  looked  at  him  with  as 
much  dignified  amazement,  as  it  was  possible  for  her  to 
assume,  and  then,  to  Frederic  Morgan's  utter  consterna 
tion,  sank  at  his  feet  in  a  swoon. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  call  his  mother,  and  the 
second  to  exercise  his  personal  skill  in  restoring  her  to 
animation.  There  was  water  and  vinaigrette  at  hand, 
and  in  a  few  moments  her  eyes  unclosed,  and  she  feebly 
raised  her  head  from  the  arm  on  which  he  had  pillowed 
it. 

At  that  moment,  if  she  had  but  said  she  loved  him, 
that  she  grieved  to  part  from  him,  he  would*  have  taken 
her  to  his  heart  almost  with  joy.  But  rising  from  his 
arms,  and  sinking  languidly  into  a  chair,  she  murmured : — 

"How  could  you  be  so  cruel?  What  a  ridiculous 
situation  to  place  one  in.  Every  one  would  say  you  had 
jilted  me.  Horrible,"  and  she  shuddered  from  head  to 
foot. 

Now,  Frederic  Morgan  was  a  physician,  and  a 
thoroughly  practical  one  too,  and  therefore,  perhaps, 
should  not  have  been  alarmed  by  the  sudden  faintness  of 
a  lady,  but  nevertheless,  he  was  greatly  so  in  this  case, 
and  looked  at  the  tiny  figure  before  him  with  the  utmost 
solicitude,  as  she  continued : — 

"  You  know,  Frederic,  I  promised  uncle  I  would  marry 
you,  as  I  have  expected  to  do  so,  and  every  one  has 
expected  it  of  me.  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for 
your  kind  offer;  it  is  very  considerate  upon  your  part, 
I'm  sure,  but  dear  me,  every  thing  is  ready.  I  should  die, 
I  am  certain." 

Frederic  Morgan  stood  before  her,  and  in  impassioned 


140  ALDEANE. 

words  declared  to  her  his  heart.  But  she  did  not  for 
an  instant  read  it  aright.  In  her  intense  selfishness  she 
supposed  him  to  be  pleading  for  her  happiness,  not  for 
his  own,  and  that  of  the  woman  he  loved.  "  Annie,"  he 
cried,  at  length,  "  what  now  is  your  answer  ?" 

"  Why,  dear  me,"  she  said  gayly,  "  I  could  dismiss  you, 
no  doubt,  if  I  had  the  heart  to  do  it,  and  all  the  world 
would  declare  it  perfectly  right  and  proper,  but  really, 
I  should  never  be  happy,  my  falsity  would  haunt  me 
even  in  my  dreams.  No,  dear  Frederic,  I  will  never 
break  my  word,  I  will  be  your  wife." 

"  And,"  she  added  to  herself,  "  nothing  could  be  more 
elegant  than  that  lace  veil  we  were  looking  at  in  Stewart's 
three  weeks  ago." 

Frederic  Morgan  spoke  not  another  word.  He  had 
told  her  all,  and  had  left  the  decision  of  their  fate  to  her, 
and  she  had  decided  it.  A  sudden  faintness  came  over 
him,  more  terrible  than  any  mere  physical  weakness 
could  have  brought  over  him,  and  looking  blindly  at  the 
figure  in  the  chair  before  .him,  and  thinking  madly,  de 
spairingly  of  that  other,  his  lost  love !  Aldeaue  !  Aldeane, 
he  staggered  from  the  room. 

And  this  was  the  parting  of  an  affianced  pair.  Even 
Annie  Greyson  thought  it  a  strange  one,  as  she  arose 
from  her  chair,  and  stepping  to  the  long  mirror,  gazed  at 
her  reflection  for  some  moments,  and  murmured  at  last : — 

"  How  inconsiderate  of  Fred  !  How  could  he  ever 
think  I  would  place  myself  in  such  an  absurd  position. 
Dear  me,  what  a  disagreeable  thing  it  is  to  cry,  and  its 
effects  are  so  distressing  too.  I  declare  my  eyes  and 
nose  are  quite  red,"  and  with  a  pout  Miss  Greyson  threw 
herself  into  a  chair,  and  patiently  fanned  her  face,  until 
such  tihie  as  she  could  safely  look  into  the  mirror  without 
being  shocked  by  the  traces  of  the  tears  shed,  in  the 
first  private  interview  she  had  ever  held  with  the  man 
whom  she  was  to  marry. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

TWO   IMPORTANT  LETTEBS. 

ONE  evening,  some  three  weeks  after  the  event  re 
corded  in  the  last  chapter,  Arthur  Guthrie  sat  alone  in 
his  office — his  private  office — for  he  had  been  admitted 
to  the  bar  two  months  before,  and  was  now  the  junior 
partner  in  the  firm  of  Halcombe  and  Guthrie.  His 
associate  Chester  Halcombe  was  a  gentlemanly  young 
fellow,  who,  lacking  all  the  qualities  necessary  to  a  legal 
practitioner,  brought  into  the  firm  implicit  faith  in  his 
more  clever  partner,  and  the  excellent  connection  of  his 
uncle,  the  late  Edgar  Halcombe. 

As  Arthur  Guthrie  sat  before  the  glowing  fire  in  the 
grate,  leaning  his  arm  upon  a  table  bestrewn  with  docu 
ments,  he  could  not  but  admit  that  he  was  a  very  fortu 
nate  fellow,  with  every  prospect  of  an  early  rise  in 
life,  with  a  thousand  friends,  and  but  one  enemy.  Yes, 
there  was  one  enemy,  and,  although  Arthur  Guthrie 
never  met  him,  and  seldom  heard  of  him,  and  never  but 
of  his  rapidly  increasing  wealth,  he  had,  to  his  own  mind 
numerous  proofs  that  Jonas  Nevins  had  not  forgotten 
him. 

He  was  thinking  of  this,  and  of  one  other  thing  that 
troubled  him  even  more,  when  his  little  office  boy 
announced  a  gentleman,  and  Mr.  Ashton  entered. 

The  color  rushed  over  Arthur's  face,  as  he  arose  to 
greet  his  visitoi',  and  dyed  it  still  more  readily,  a  second 
time,  when  he  asked  for  Miss  Ashton. 

"  Well,  I  scarcely  think  Belle  has  been  in  her  usual 


142  ALDEANE. 

good  health  of  late,"  replied  Mr.  Ashtou,  as  he  took  the 
seat  which  Arthur  offered  him.  "She  seems,  in  fact, 
quite  out  of  spirits." 

Arthur  murmured  somethiug  about  being  very  sorry, 
and  did  not  seem  in  very  high  spirits  himself,  and  that 
Mr.  Ashton  quickly  noticed. 

"What's  the  matter,  Arthur?"  he  asked.  "Business 
dull?" 

"  It  never  was  better." 

"  Then,  what  do  you  mean  by  such  a  long  face  as  that  ? 
That  rascal  hasn't — " 

"  Yes,  he  has,"  interrupted  Arthur,  quickly.  "  I  told  you 
just  now  that  business  was  never  better,  but  in  fact,  El- 
dridge  and  Morse  took  their  affairs  out  of  our  hands  yes 
terday,  and  they  were  clients  of  Mr.  Halcombe's  for 
years." 

"Indeed,"  said  Mr.  Ashton,  with  a  troubled  face. 
"  What  reason  did  they  assign  ?" 

"  The  same  as  Mr.  Leigh  did  last  week :  the  superior 
claims  of  Keith  and  Hayes." 

"  Was  there  no  complaint  made  of  either  Halcombe  or 
yourself." 

"  None,"  answered  Arthur.  "  But — "and  he  hesitated 
for  an  instant,  "  Halcombe  has  been  telling  me  an  absurd 
tale  that  is  upon  the  streets." 

"I  have  heard  it,"  interrupted  Mr.  Ashton,  quickly. 
"  Charles  Evans  was  telling  us  it  the  other  night.  The 
bare  idea  of  you,  a  gambler  and  drunkard,  it  is  indeed 
absurd.  I  never  saw  Belle  so  angry  in  my  life." 

Arthur  Guthrie  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  "  That 
she  should  have  heard  it,"  he  murmured. 

Mr.  Ashton  affected  not  to  hear  him,  but  after  looking 
at  him  keenly  for  a  moment,  began  to  talk  of  his  own 
business  affairs,  and  as  he  was  not  going  to  Rose  Cottage 
that  night,  remained  at  the  office  until  it  was  quite  dark, 
when  they  repaired  to  a  dining-hall  together. 


ALDEANE.  143 

Here  they  met  Mr.  Halcombe,  who,  as  his  manner  was, 
regaled  them  with  all  the  on  dits  of  the  day,  and  as  a 
specially  choice  morsel,  informed  them  of  the  engage 
ment  of  Dr.  Morgan  and  his  cousin.  "  And  poor  Fred 
is  actually  to  become  a  Benedict  within  ten  days,"  he.con- 
cluded. 

"I  am  sony  to  take  away  your  triumph,  Chester," 
said  Arthur,  quietly,  "  but  really,  I've  known  of  that  mat 
ter  for  a  week  past.  Let  us  drink  to  the  health  of  the 
happy  couple." 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  Mr.  Halcombe,  "  You  always 
were,  and  always  will  be,  before  me,  Arthur.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  now,  if  you  have  been  invited  to  be  groomsman 
or  something  of  the  sort." 

"  I  tell  no  state  secrets !"  cried  Arthur,  gayly,  and  the 
subject  dropped,  to  be  renewed  again,  when  Arthur  and 
Mr.  Ashton  were  alone,  in  the  cozy  back  office,  which 
was  in  fact  the  hoftie  of  the  junior  partner,  and  then  he 
informed  Mr.  Ashton,  that  Chester's  jesting  surmise  was 
indeed  correct,  that  Frederic  Morgan  had  invited  him  to 
be  one  of  his  groomsmen,  while  George  Raymond  was  to 
be  the  other. 

"  And  the  bridesmaids,"  asked  Mr.  Ashton. 

"  Miss  Arendell  is  to  be  one  certainly,  and  Miss  Ashton 
is  counted  upon  for  the  other." 

"  Indeed !  And  she  will  act  with  you  of  course.  But 
I  can  tell  you,  Arthur,  you  will  have  to  make  your  peace 
with  her  first,  as  she  thinks  you  have  neglected  us  of 
late." 

"  Good  God !"  cried  Arthur,  suddenly,  with  seemingly 
unaccountable  vehemence,  "  how  has  it  been  possible  for 
me  to  go  there,  knowing  that  she  has  heard  these  atro 
cious  tales." 

"  That  should  have  made  no  difference,"  returned  Mr. 
Ashton.  "  You  know  Belle  is  too  truly  your  friend  to  be 
lieve  any  thing  to  your  discredit.  Now,  Arthur,  I  do  not 


144  ALDEANE. 

wish  to  dictate  to  you,  but  I  think  you  should,  in  your 
position,  endeavor  to  retain  all  your  friends.  It  is  quite 
certain  that  Nevins  is  trying  to  ruin  you,  and  you  must 
rally  all  your  forces  against  him,  though  I  am  pretty  cer 
tain  of  silencing  him  very  effectually.  But  we  must 
wait,  we  must  wait." 

Arthur  looked  at  him  in  some  surprise,  but  Mr.  Ashton 
did  not  seem  inclined  to  speak  further  upon  the  subject, 
but  abruptly  asked  Arthur  whether  he  intended  to  ac 
cept  Frederic  Morgan's  invitation,  adding  that  he  would 
do  well  to  secure  so  powerful  a  friend. 

"  My  need  of  securing  such  friends,"  answered  Arthur, 
"  is  my  chief  reason  for  declining  the  honor  Morgan  pro 
poses  to  me.  I  want  to  work  my  own  way  against  that 
villain." 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !"  ejaculated  Mr.  Ashton.  "  It  will  in  no 
degree  detract  from  your  independence  and  worth,  to  sur 
round  yourself  with  reliable  friends.  By  the  way,  that 
fellow  is  amassing  a  vast  fortune,  I  hear.  Well,  well,  he 
will  need  it  all;"  and  he  rubbed  his  hands  gleefully 
together,  and  laughed  so  triumphantly,  that  Arthur  could 
not  refrain  from  asking  him  what  special  knowledge  he 
held  of  Nevins. 

"  You  are  right  in  supposing  that  I  have  some  special 
knowledge  of  Nevins,"  returned  Mr.  Ashton,  gravely ; 
"  but  what  it  is,  or  how  I  gained  it,  I  can  not  at  present 
inform  you ;  and  I  will  only  tell  you  this,  that  the  time 
will  come,  when  neither  you  nor  your  friends  will  regret 
that  they  stood  between  you  and  that  man's  persecu 
tions." 

"  It  rejoices  me  to  hear  it!"  cried  Arthur,  hopefully,  "  for 
knowing  that,  I  shall  have  less  fear  of  mingling  with  them, 
and  in  a  manner  associating  them  with  my  interests  and 
pursuits.  Yet  even  with  this  vague  hint  of  the  villainy  of 
my  persecutor  which  you  have  given  me,  it  is  hard  for  me 
to  bear  calmly  the  aspersions  which  I  know  he  is  secretly 


ALDEANE.  145 

casting  upon  my  name.  I  have  had  serious  thoughts  of 
calling  upon  him,  and  warning  him  upon  his  peril  to  con 
tinue,  his  base  calumnies." 

"  The  worst  course  you  could  possibly  pursue,"  said  Mr. 
Ashton.  "  He  would  defy  you,  of  course,  and  make  out  a 
case  against  you  that  would  ring  through  the  city  in  a 
fortnight.  Such  a  thing  is  easily  spread,  in  this  way  for 
instance,"  and  Mr.  Ashton  drew  from  his  pocket  a  letter, 
and  handed  it  to  Arthur,  saying,  "  Read  that,  and  tell  me 
if  you  can,  who  took  the  pains  to  write  it.  It  is  signed, 
'A  Boston  Friend.'  Whether  that  means  a  style  of  friend 
peculiar  to  this  city,  or  a  friend  who  is  merely  a  resident 
here,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  determine.  If  the  former,  I  tremble 
\  for  Boston." 

Unheeding  these  last  remarks,  Arthur  had  opened  and 
eagerly  perused  the  letter,  which,  written  in  a  cramped, 
and  evidently,  disguised  hand,   contained   the  following 
words  :— 
"  CHARLES  ASHTOX,  ESQ.: — 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  As  an  old  and,  I  trust,  a  somewhat  valued 
friend,  both  of  yourself  and  your  lovely  daughter,  I  feel 
constrained  to  perform  the  unpleasant  duty  of  acquainting 
you  with  some  facts  concerning  a  young  gentleman  in 
Avhom  it  is  well  known  you  take  a  warm  interest.  I  al 
lude  to  Mr.  Arthur  Guthrie. 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  will  take  the  liberty  first  of  relating 
a  little  event  which  took  place  about  two  months  ago ;  it 
will  perhaps  illustrate  the  character  of  the  young  man 
more  than  any  words  of  mine  could  possibly  do.  Premi 
sing,  that  I  am  perfectly  willing  that  you  should  seek 
whatever  proof  you  may  wish,  in  the  most  expeditious 
way  that  may  occur  to  you." 

"  Now  isn't  that  the  most  absurd  thing"  interrupted  Mr. 
Ashton,  who  had  risen  and  was  glancing  over  Arthur's 
shoulder  as  he  read.  "  As  if  I  wrts  going  into  every  saloon 
on. Street  to  inquire  whether  'a  tall  young  man' 

7 


146  ALDEANE. 

was  ever  seen  there.  But  go  on ;  you  don't  understand 
me." 

"  I  was  going  down Street,  with  some  gentlemen, 

Mr.  Kevins  among  the  rest,  when  I  saw  a  tall  young  man 
issue  from  one  of  the  most  noted  gambling  saloons.  He 
seemed  very  drunk,  and  as  he  reeled  past  me,  shouted 
out  in  a  loud  voice ;  and  with  a  feeling  of  horror  I  recog 
nized  it,  and  exclaimed,  '  Is  it  possible  that  that  is  young 
Mr.  Guthrie!' 

" '  I  am  sure  it  was,'  said  one. 

" '  Ah  !  he  is  going  the  road  to  ruin  rapidly,'  remarked 
another. 

"  '  Rapidly,  indeed !'  said  Mr.  Nevins.  '  Poor  fellow,  I 
pity  him.  With  his  unusual  talents  and  fine  personal 
appearance,  he  might  make  an  enviable  reputation  in 
the  world :  but,  with  his  unfortunate  propensities,  I  fear 
the  very  worst  for  him.'  " 

"  Curse  him !"  hissed  Arthur,  bitterly. 

"  '  Have  you  no  other  proof  that  the  person  you  saw  was 
Mr.  Guthrie !'  asked  Mr.  Nevins,  with  a  faint  intonation 
of  doubt  still  in  his  voice. 

"  I  could  scarcely  believe  what  I  had  seen,  I  assure  you, 
Mr.  Ashton,  though  my  eyes  do  not  often  play  me  false. 
'  Let  us  go  into  the  saloon,'  I  said,  '  and  ask  the  name  of 
the  young  man  who  has  just  passed.' 

"  My  suggestion  was  eagerly  seconded  by  all  present, 
except  Mr.  Nevins,  who  considerately  desired  that  no 
further  proof  might  be  obtained  of  his  step-son's  delin 
quency.  However  the  majority  carried  the  point,  and  we 
went  in  to  make  inquiries.  The  keeper  of  the  saloon 
declined  to  tell  his  name,  but  inadvertently  admitted 
that  he  was  a  young  lawyer,  doing  business  in  this  city. 
'  He  hasn't  lost  much  yet,'  said  the  man,  '  but  I  wouldn't 
like  to  trust  much  money  in  his  hands.' " 

"  The  villain  !"  cried  Arthur,  with  uncontrollable  pas 
sion.  "  This  is,  indeed,  more  than  I  can  bear.  This  un- 


ALDEANE.  147 

doubtedly  is  the  vile  story  that  has  already  affected  my 
practice  so  sensibly." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Mr.  Ashton.  "  Now  read  the  rest 
and  tell  me  if  that  too  is  false." 

"  The  above  fact,  I  have  thought  it  my  duty  to  make 
known  to  you,  as  Mr.  Guthrie  has  often  boasted  of  his  in 
timacy  with  you  and  your  daughter,  of  whom  he  has  often 
declared  himself  the  favored  suitor,  and  has  openly  made 
calculations  of  the  amount  of  fortune  which  lie  will  re 
ceive  with  her.  This  point  I  should  never  have  mentioned, 
but  for  the  unpleasant  notoriety  given  to  Miss  Ashton's 
name." 

Arthur  read  no  further,  though  there  were  several  addi 
tional  lines.  He  dashed  the  letter  upon  the  table,  and  paced 
the  room  excitedly. 

"  Mr.  Ashton !"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  turning  to  the 
gentleman  who  was  keenly  watching  him :  "  That  I  have 
ever  spoken  of  Miss  Ashton  in  the  manner  imputed  to 
me,  is  false,  but  now  I  feel  that  I  must  declare  my  true 
oifense,  and  give  you  the  real  reason  for  my  seeming 
neglect  of  you.  I  love  Miss  Ashton." 

Mr.  Ashton  did  not  seem  at  all  surprised,  and  indeed 
the  expression  of  his  countenance  did  not  change  in  the 
least  as  Arthur  continued  : — 

"  I  have  even,  sir,  had  some  presumptuous  hopes  of 
becoming  worthy  of  her,  and  of  obtaining  a  position 
which  she  could  share  without  loss.  Mr.  Ashton,  I  have 
for  months  past  known  these  hopes  to  be  vain." 

"  And  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Ashton,  though  without  any 
special  severity,  "  you  never  mentioned  this  to  Belle." 

Arthur  flushed  to  the  temples.  "  I  am  afraid,  sir,"  he 
said  at  last,  in  a  low  voice,  "  that  I  did  once — only  once 
— tell  her  something  of  my  hopes." 

"  Indeed,"  remonstrated  Mr.  Ashton,  "  I  am  surprised 
at  you,  Arthur,  surprised." 

"Miss   Ashtou  was   so  beautiful,"  murmured  Arthur 


148  ALDEANE. 

hopelessly.  "I  did  not  mean  to  speak,  but  I  could  not 
help  it." 

"  And  of  course,"  returned  Mr.  Ashton,  most  unexpect 
edly,  "  Belle  couldn't  help  expressing  her  indignation  at 
such  conduct,  and,  by  the  way,  here  is  a  note  she  gave  me 
to  deliver  to  you,  which  is  no  doubt  expressive  of  the 
same." 

Arthur  took  the  note  with  trembling  fingers,  remem 
bering  that  Belle's  face  upon  that  day  had  not  been  so 
expressive  of  indignation  as  her  father  appeared  to  sup 
pose.  Opening  the  little  missive,  he  read  with  feelings 
indescribable,  the  following  lines : 

DEAR  ARTIIUB  : — Papa  has  shown  me  the  anonymous 
letter  concerning  you  which  he  has  just  received.  Oh, 
Arthur,  I  know  it  is  all  false,  every  bit  false,  I  wish  you 
would  come  to  Rose  Cottage  that  I  might  tell  you  so. 
Dear  Arthur,  I  know  you  are  in  trouble,  and  that  that  is 
the  reason  you  absent  yourself  from  us,  and  a  thousand 
times  a  day  I  have  reproached  myself  with  the  thought 
that  this  would  not  have  been  so,  if  I  had  done  my  duty 

to  myself  and  you,  when .      Oh,  Arthur,  I  know 

these  tales  are  false.  I  will  trust  you  in  spite  of  all  the 
world.  Papa  says  I  may  write  this,  and  I  think  I  once 
promised  you,  I  would  answer  you  sometime,  and  I  do 
not  fear  but  you  will  read  clearly  the  emotions  whicli 
prompt  me. 

Yours, 

BELLE. 

Arthur  remained  for  a  few  moments  in  a  state  of  ec 
static  bewilderment.  "  Mr.  Ashton  "  he  exclaimed  at  last, 
"  can  it  be  that  your  daughter  loves  me,  and  that  you 
will  give  her  to  me,  a  poor,  and  persecuted  man  ?  My 
darling,  how  noble  and  fearless  she  is." 

"  And  what  a  coquette, "  interrupted  Mr.  Ashton. 
"  Now,  the  truth  is,  Arthur,  I  have  suspected  this  for  a 


ALDEANE.  149 

long  time,  and  upon  the  receipt  of  that  letter,  I  taxed 
Belle  with  the  truth.  Of  course  she  couldn't  deny  it,  and, 
fancying  you  the  most  persecuted,  and  herself  the  cruel- 
est  of  mortals — for  she  told  me  she  had  actually  laughed 
at  you — she  begged  me  to  allow  her  to  answer  your 
words  of  a  year  ago.  I  said  it  would  be  as  ridiculous  as 
the  story  of  the  silent  gentleman  and  his  silent  servant." 

"  Mr.  Ashton  "  cried  Arthur,  "  it  was  noble,  it  was  the 
deed  of  an  angel.  Yet  how  can  I  suffer  her  to  share  my 
uncertain  fortunes.  I "  and  he  glanced  at  the  anony 
mous  letter. 

"  My  dear  fellow !"  cried  Mr.  Ashton,  warmly,  "  You 
shall  ask  Belle  what  she  cares  for  that,  while  I  will  at  the 
same  time  publish  that  letter  and  the  fact  that  you  are  to 
become  my  son-in-law." 

Arthur  wrung  his  hand  and  spoke  no  more  of  dismal 
prospects  that  night.  But,  it  is  reported,  sat  down  almost 
immediately,  and  wrote  pages  upon  pages  to  the  lady  of 
his  love,  over  which  her  father  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  his  daughter  alternately  wept  and  smiled,  through 
the  few  joyful,  yet  seemingly  interminable  days,  before 
Arthur  Guthrie  visited  Rose  Cottage,  and  gained  from 
her  lips — with  perhaps  something  still  sweeter — the  same 
confession  her  hand  had  written — even  a  more  complete 
one,  though  it  could  scarcely  be  more  satisfactory — the 
confession  of  her  love. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  "MERRY  WEDDING." 

THE  carriage  had  rolled  around  the  bend  of  the  road, 
bearing  Colonel  Arendell,  his  wife,  and  daughter,  upon  the 
first  stage  of  their  journey  North.  The  children,  after  a 
burst  of  tears,  and  a  score  of  lamentations,  had  rushed 
off  to  enjoy  the  holiday  which  Aldeane  had  awarded  them, 
while  she,  with  emotions  too  deep  for  words,  and  many, 
indeed,  which  she  was  resolved  no  mortal  should  ever 
learn,  stood  upon  the  porch  in  a  mournful  reverie,  which 
was  at  last  broken  by  the  voice  of  Aunt  Roxy,  proceed 
ing  from  the  depths  of  her  check  apron. 

"Well,  I  do  wish  dey  wos  back  ag'in,"  she  sobbed. 
"I  do  hate  to  hab  Miss  Nory  go  'way." 

"  Yes,  it  will  be  very  lonely,  auntie,"  replied  Aldeane. 

"  'Pears  to  me,  she  is  de  purtiest  an'  best  chile  I  hab  eber 
seed  in  all  my  sublunatory  resistance !  Xo  more  like  her 
ma  was,  den  a  'possum's  like  a  jay-bird.  Don't  eben 
look  like  her !" 

"  Ah !  what  sort  of  a  lady  was  she  ?" 

"  She  was  tall  as  a  bean  pole,  wid  de  greatest  black 
eyes,  and  de  blackest  ha'r  I  eber  seen,  and  I  tell  you,  dem 
white  hands  o'  hern  would  sting !  TJgh  !  I've  felt  'em 
many  a  time !" 

"  She  had  not  a  very  gentle  temper,  then  ?" 

"  You're  right  dere,  Miss  Aldeane.  I  tell  ye  she  used 
to  rile  out  often  at  de  niggers,  and  Mass'r  John  too,  for 
dat  matter.  I  tell  you  she  did  lub  money  powerful  well. 
Neber  could  see  how  Mass'r  John  come  to  marry  her,  no 


ALDEANE.  151 

how !  I  'spec  dat  she  acted  mighty  fine  when  he  was  a 
courtin'  her ;  an'  don't  say  nothin'  about  it,  Miss  Aldeane, 
she  ruled  him  slick  enough  after  she  got  him,  too." 

"  You  fancy  that,  I  guess  !"  replied  Aldeane,  laugh 
ing. 

"  No  marm,  I  don't.  Leastways  eberybody  else  tinks 
de  same  ting.  An'  deres  dat  Mass'r  Richard  Blake,  he 
was  her  cousin,  and  oberseer  den.  Why,  bress  yer  heart 
he  knowed  things  dat  happened  den,  dat  it's  taken  thou 
sands  o'  dollars  to  make  him  keep  still  about.  Folks 
said  dat  it  was  through  dem  two  dat  Mass'r  John  got 
so  much  of  his  brudder's  property.  Dey  brought  in 
claims  dat  swallered  up  most  all  ob  de  estate.  Dat's  how 
Mass'r  John  got  Samira,  and  me,  and  a  heap  ob  de  oder 
niggers.  Folks  say  dis,  an'  I  b'lieves  'em." 

"  But  you  should  not  believe  all  you  hear.  The  poor 
lady  may  have  had  enemies." 

"  Dat  she  had  !  a  many  a  one,  and  she  orter  had  more, 
too  !  Oh,  I  tell  you  de  way  she  used  ter  make  de  niggers 
fly,  wasn't  slow;  more  whippin'  done  on  de  place  in  one 
year  den  dere  has  been  all  de  time  Miss  Idy's  been  here. 
Some  say  Miss  Lu — dat  was  her  name — had  a  spite  ag'in 
my  mass'r  dat  was,  'case  he  wouldn't  marry  her.  He  was 
a  mighty  fine  man,  though  he  purty  nigh  got  us  all  sold, 
by  bein'  so  wild  when  he  was  young." 

"  Was  he  married  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  was ;  an' — .  Oh,  Lordy  me,  Zet !  dem,  pies  is 
a-burnin',  dem  pies  is  a-burnin' !"  And  Aunty  Roxy  hur 
ried  away  to  the  kitchen,  leaving  Aldeane  to  turn  to  the 
active  duties  of  the  school-room.  The  house  seemed  half 
deserted,  and  the  children  unusually  stupid  and  queru 
lous.  The  day  passed  drearily — the  harbinger  of  many 
still  more  desolate,  that  followed  during  that  lonely 
winter. 

The  twenty-first  of  November  rose  in  unclouded  bright 
ness,  both  North  and  Soiith,  yet  it  bore  a  fresh  weight 


152  ALDEANE. 

of  agony  to  two  hearts.  Aldeaiie  spent  the  day  in  tears 
and  prayer  ;  Frederic  Morgan  in  despairing  melancholy. 
He  sat  in  his  dressing-room,  when  Arthur  Guthrie,  followed 
by  his  fellow-groomsman,  Mr.  George  Raymond,  entered 
it  and  exclaimed,  "  What,  doctor — not  ready  yet  ?  The 
carriage  is  at  the  door — come,  hurry !" 

Frederic  slowly  arose  from  the  large  arm-chair  in  which 
lie  had  been  sitting,  and  turned  toward  the  toilet-table, 
sighing  deeply,  as  he  said,  "  Take  seats,  gentlemen,  I  will 
not  detain  you  long." 

They  complied,  and  were  soon  engaged  in  an  animated 
conversation.  Doctor  Morgan,  as  he  was  now  called, 
slowly  and  wearily  completed  his  toilet.  At  some  trifling 
jest  from  Arthur,  he  turned  suddenly,  to  their  surprise 
revealing  a  face  pale  as  death,  and  contracted  with  agony. 
Arthur  started,  and  said  in  a  low  voice  to  his  friend : — 

"Good  God!  is  he  ill." 

"  I  don't  know,  Morgan ;  you  had  better  take  a  glass  of 
wine  before  you  go.  It  is  pretty  cold  this  morning." 

"  Yes  !"  returned  he,  turning  to  the  glass,  and  regarding 
his  reflection  with  a  sorrowful  glance.  "  Ring  the  bell, 
if  you  please,  Arthur !" 

"  Bring  some  port  and  sherry,"  he  said,  when  the  ser 
vant  appeared.  It  was  soon  before  them,  and  Frederic 
drained  glass  after  glass,  until  placing  his  hand  on  his 
arm,  Mr.  Raymond  said,  warningly : — 

"  Enough,  Fred !  we  must  go ;  Miss  Annie  will  become 
impatient.  I  presume  she  is  already  on  her  way  to  the 
church." 

They  were  soon  gliding  briskly  over  the  snow,  toward 
the  church,  where  they  found  the  bridal  party  awaiting 
them.  Annie  Greyson,  beautifully  arrayed  in  white  silk, 
lace,  and  costly  jewels,  smiled  joyously  as  Frederic  took 
her  hand,  while  a  quick  flush  arose  to  the  cheek  of  Belle 
Ashton,  as  Arthur  Guthrie,  as  her  attendant,  appi-oached 
her.  Mr.  Raymond  and  Leonore  Arendell  were  the  other 


ALDEANE.  153 

attendants,  and  as  they  followed  the  betrothed  pair  into 
the  church,  many  thought  a  handsomer  group  could  not 
have  been  selected.  The  ceremony  was  in  the  Episcopal 
form,  and  during  its  lengthy  performance,  though  out 
wardly  calm,  Frederic  was  greatly  agitated.  His  hair 
fell  in  damp  masses  over  his  pale  brow,  and  the  hand 
raised  to  toss  it  back  ti'embled  fearfully.  Annie,  calm 
and  self-possessed  herself,  wondered  that  he  was  so  ex 
cited,  but  failed  to  see  that  his  emotion  was  the  shiver  of 
despair,  rather  than  the  tremor  of  gratified  hope  and  love. 
Arthur  and  Belle  alone  guessed  the  truth.  They  marked 
the  choked  utterance,  the  cold  fingers  which  clasped  so 
lightly  the  little  hand  within  them.  They  saw  the  forced 
smiles,  that  broke  into  gleams  of  agony  over  his  face,  and 
knew  that  Frederic  Morgan  did  not  love  the  woman  he 
was  marrying,  but  that  his  heart  was  truly  another's. 
At  the  conclusion  of  the  ceremony  the  groom  passed  his 
arm  around  his  new-made  wife,  and  kissed  her  in  so 
strange  a  manner,  that,  looking  with  a  startled  glance 
into  his  face,  she  inquired  anxiously,  "  Dear  husband,  are 
you  ill?" 

"  No,  I  shall  recover  in  a  moment,"  he  whispered,  shud 
dering  as  he  heard  the  name  of  husband  from  her  lips. 
"  I  am  a  little  excited — nothing  more  !" 

Annie  readily  believed  his  words,  and  in  the  hurry  of 
receiving  congratulations,  and  the  departure  from  the 
church,  failed  to  notice  his  violent  efforts  to  obtain  com 
posure.  He  was  watched,  however,  by  both  Arthur  and 
Belle,  who  rejoiced  to  see,  that  after  their  arrival  at  the 
house,  he  was  as  self-possessed,  if  not  as  gay  as  usual. 
A  grand  reception  was  given  in  the  evening,  and  Mrs. 
Arendell  was  rejoiced  to  discover  that  Leonore  was  uni 
versally  admired,  nor  were  they  at  all  displeased  to  notice 
the  impression  she  had  evidently  made  upon  Mr.  Ray 
mond,  which  were  truly  remarkable,  Doctor  Morgan  in 
formed  his  sister,  as  he  had  never  regarded  any  lady  with 
7* 


154  ALDEANE. 

aught  but  indifference,  and  had  a  thousand  times  declared 
to  him  his  intention  of  living  and  dying  a  bachelor.  But 
the  beautiful  Leonore  Arendell  appeared  already  to  have 
weakened  that  determination,  as  he  scarcely  left  her  side 
during  the  entire  evening. 

She  was  indeed  surprisingly  beautiful  in  her  rich  but 
simple  robe,  and  the  delicate  pearls,  for  which  she  had 
stipulated,  strands  of  which  confined  her  dark  hair,  and 
encircled  her  white  throat  and  arms.  The  novelty  of 
the  scene  delighted  her,  and  excitement  lent  a  new  tint 
of  crimson  to  her  cheeks,  and  luster  to  her  beautiful  eyes. 
The  brilliant  light  fell  softly  over  the  rich  brown  curls, 
that  fell  in  abundance  over  her  pearly  shoulders.  As 
Colonel  Arendell  watched  her  floating  lightly  with  Mr. 
Raymond  in  the  airy  mazes  of  the  dance,  he  felt  arising 
in  his  heart  aspirations  for  her  of  which  before  he  hm?; 
never  dreamed  ;  and  traced  in  the  dim  vistas  of  the  future 
scenes  of  happiness  through  which  she  should  pass,  the 
loved  and  admired  of  all.  Mrs.  Arendell  touched  his  arm. 
"  Is  she  not  beautiful  ?"  she  queried.  "  Our  Southern  star 
beams  with  full  luster  to  night,  that  has  cast  but  a  mellow 
radiance  before.  I  wish  Aldeane  Guthrie  was  here  to  see 
her."  Ah  !  little  she  thought  that  at  that  very  moment, 
she  was  experiencing  the  deepest  meaning  of  woe  and 
desolation. 

Doctor  Morgan  approached  them.  His  cheeks  were 
burning  with  fever.  Mrs.  Arendell  touched  his  hand ;  it 
was  hot  and  dry. 

"  Where  is  your  wife  ?"  she  asked. 

"  O  God !"  he  thought,  "  must  they  all  remind  me  of 
her  relationship  to  me  !"  but  he  answered  calmly,  "  With 
Mr.  Guthrie,  I  believe.  Will  yoii  dance  this  set  with  me  ?" 

"  Certainly !"  and  as  he  led  her  away  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  "  Frederic,  don't  drink  any  more  to-night.  I  saw, 
when  you  were  taking  wine  in  the  dining-room  with  Mr. 
Gartrell,  that  your  hand  shook  badly." 


ALDEANE. 

"  Oh !  don't  fear  for  me !  Wine  will  have  no  effect 
upon  me ;  a  pipe  of  it  would  not  quench  the  burning 
fever  that  consumes  me.  I  am  perfectly  sober.  Do  you 
doubt  it  ?" 

"  No,"  she  replied,  smiling ;  "  but  remain  so.  I  did  not 
know  that  you  were  such  a  veritable  toper  that  you  could 
stand  any  amount.  Pray  don't  follow  the  example  of 
young  Lounsberry.  I  see  that  he  is  quite  overcome." 

Frederic  laughed  derisively.  "  My  mother  and  Lady 
Bride  shall  never  see  me  in  that  situation." 

"  Annie  is  beautiful  to-night,"  said  Mrs.  Arendell. 

"  Yes.  But  so  quiet,  so  precise,  so  calmly  beautiful !" 
interrupted  Frederic,  pettishly.  "Oh!  that  she  had  a 
little  more  vitality !  Her  beauty  is  like  sweet  wine, 
pleasant  but  not  exhilarating ;  and  its  effects  are  as  weak 
and  transient !" 

Mrs.  Arendell  looked  up  in  surprise.  "  Such  words 
from  a  new-made  husband !"  she  exclaimed,  hastily.  "  Ah ! 
I  see  you  are  jesting,"  as  Frederic,  to  remove  the  impres 
sion  that  his  words  had  created,  assumed  the  mischievous 
smile  which  he  had  worn  so  often  of  old.  "  But  do  not 
repeat  the  jest  to  any  one  else  !" 

"  I  shall  not,  Ida.  I  merely  wished  to  test  your  credu 
lity.  But  here  comes  Mr.  Guthrie  with  my  bride."  Rising, 
he  took  Annie's  hand,  and  drew  it  within  his  arm.  "  See 
how  gladly  I  receive  her.  Arthur,  there  is  a  call  for  a 
waltz.  I  know  you  are  never  too  weary  to  dance." 

Nor  was  his  partner,  the  young  lady  to  whom  it  was 
by  this  time  known  he  was  engaged ;  and  many,  as  they 
looked  after  them,  while  they  wondered  that  Mr.  Ashton 
should  consent  to  the  marriage  of  his  daughter  with  a 
young  man  whose  reputation  had  been  of  late  rumored  to 
be  somewhat  doubtful,  owned  that  in  outward  seeming 
at  least  they  were  perfectly  matched. 

A  week  later  Aldeane  received  from  her  friend  a  full 
account  of  this  "  merry  wedding,"  together  with  some 


156  ALDEANE. 

shrewd  conjectures  concerning  the  state  of  mind  of  the 
their  old  acquaintance,  George  Raymond,  toward  her 
pupil ;  and  strangely  it  appeared  even  to  her,  remember 
ing  though  she  did  his  mysterious  and  gloomy  character, 
she  trembled  for  the  welfare  of  Leonore  Arendell,  and 
daily  prayed  and  longed  for  her  safe  and  speedy  return 
to  the  seclusion  of  her  home. 

And  meanwhile  she  willed  to  bear  her  own  griefs 
calmly ;  and  though  she  could  not  ignore  them,  or  even 
wish  to  do  so,  she  wept  but  few  vain  tears  over  them, 
and  summoned  her  brightest  smiles  to  welcome  the  news 
of  the  happiness  of  her  brother  and  her  dearest  friend — 
the  happiness  which,  she  sighed,  cotild  never  be  her  own. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

LEONOKE'S  STBANGE  LOVER. 

THE  newly-wedded  pair  spent  the  following  month  in 
New  York,  and  returned  home  to  spend  the  Christmas 
and  New  Year's  festivities.  The  Arendells  and  Mr.  Ray 
mond  had,  meanwhile,  spent  the  time  at  Morganvale  and 
in  Boston  alternately,  amid  a  round  of  gayeties,  in  which 
Belle  Ashton,  notwithstanding  her  publicly  announced 
engagement,  was  still  a  star. 

She  stood  by  the  fire  upon  the  afternoon  of  the  last  day 
of  the  Old  Year,  laughingly  thinking  how  Arthur  had  jest 
ingly  commented  upon  this  the  last  time  they  met,  and 
had  said  if  he  were  not  the  most  reasonable  being  in  the 
world  he  would  be  fearfully  jealous  of  these  gay  butterflies 
of  wealth  and  fashion,  and  proudly  saying  that  such  jeal 
ousy  would  be  the  height  of  absurdity,  for  who  was  half 
so  handsome,  so  good,  so  talented  as  he,  when  a  sleigh 
drove  up  to  the  door,  to  which  she  hastened,  as  she  saw 
her  lover  alight. 

He  was  accompanied  by  Chester  Halcombe,  who,  per 
haps  purposely,  lingered  on  the  porch,  shaking  the  snow 
from  his  hat  and  shoulders,  until  the  greeting  between 
his  partner  and  their  lovely  hostess  had  been  effected. 
But  presently,  when  Belle,  with  the  most  brightly  glow 
ing  cheeks,  looked  out  upon  him,  he  hastened  toward  her, 
exclaiming : — 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Ashton  ?  You  are  looking 
charming,  as  usual.  I  should  have  paid  my  respects  to 


158  ALDEANE. 

such  beauty  before,  but  truly,  this  snow  is  the  most  adhe 
sive  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to  encounter !" 

"  You  are  perfectly  excusable  !"  she  replied,  shaking 
hands  with  him  heartily.  Another  sleigh  at  that  mo 
ment  stopped  at  the  gate,  and  she  was  soon  busily 
engaged  in  welcoming  the  Arendells,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Morgan,  and  Mr.  Raymond.  Casting  aside  her  fur 
cloak,  Leonore  ran  to  the  fireplace,  and  took  a  seat  in  a 
low  chair,  which  she  drew  close  to  the  fire,  exclaiming : — 

"  Such  cold  weather  !  It  is  enough  to  freeze  one  !  I 
can  not  endure  the  cold." 

Mr.  Raymond  crossed  the  room,  and  leaning  against 
the  mantel,  looked  thoughtfully  down  upon  her. 

"  Come,  Leonore !"  said  Mrs.  Arendell,  as  the  party 
left  the  parlor  to  go  to  the  dressing-rooms. 

"  In  a  moment,  mamma  !  but  I  declare,  I  can't  move 
before  I  get  a  little  thawed  out.  Oh,  dear  !  I  shall  freeze 
before  I  get  South  again  !" 

"  Then  you  would  not  like  Canada  ?"  inquired  Mr. 
Raymond,  in  a  low  voice. 

Her  face  crimsoned,  as  she  replied  simply,  "  I  don't 
know,  sir." 

"  It  is  very  cold  there,"  he  said. 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  shivering  slightly,  and  picking  up 
her  fur  mantle,  hurried  from  the  room  thinking,  "  What 
can  he  mean  ?  Oh !  what  can  he  mean  ?" 

"  Why,  Leonore,  your  face  is  crimson !"  ejaculated  Mrs. 
Arendell,  as  she  entered  the  room. 

"Yes,"  she  murmured,  as  she  turned  to  the  mirror. 
"  It  is  such  a  change  from  intense  cold  to  this  fervent 
heat." 

It  seemed  to  be  a  merry  party  that  met  at  Rose 
Cottage,  to  see  the  old  year  out,  and  welcome  the  new 
one  in.  Mr.  Halcombe  and  Mr.  Ashton  were  in  extrava 
gant  spirits.  And  privately  begged  Arthur  to  leave  the 
law  office  behind  him  for  once ;  advice,  which  in  spite  of 


ALDEANE.  159 

recent  vexations  he  was  not  slow  in  following.  Dr. 
Morgan,  his  wife  said,  was  still  afflicted  with  the  nervous 
affection,  with  which  he  had  been  troubled  ever  since  his 
return  from  the  South,  though  he  evidently  endeavored 
to  free  himself  of  the  troublesome  disease. 

Leonore  indulged  unrestrainedly  in  mirth  and  laugh 
ter  ;  seeming  to  enjoy  her  game  at  whist,  with  Mr. 
Raymond  for  partner,  with  a  zest  and  noise,  altogether 
incompatible  with  the  rules  of  the  game.  To  her  sur 
prise,  Belle  discovered  Mr.  Raymond  regarding  the  gay 
little  Southerner  with  an  anxious,  troubled  look,  while 
he  replied  to  her  merry  sallies.  What  obstacle  could 
cross  the  smooth  path  of  his  love  ?  For  so  constant 
had  been  his  attendance  on  Leonore  since  Dr.  Morgan's 
wedding,  that  all  took  it  for  granted,  that  he  was  a  suitor 
for  her  hand,  and  believed  he  had  found  favor  in  her 
eyes ;  while  his  distinguished  appearance ;  his  wealth, 
and  social  position,  could  not  fail  to  strongly  recommend 
him  to  her  family.  Why,  then,  that  troubled,  almost 
despairing  look  !  Belle  thought  she  had  found  a  solution 
of  the  mystery,  when  he  said,  "  Come,  Miss  Leonore,  we 
must  win  to-night.  Perhaps,  it  is  the  last  time  Ave  shall 
play  together." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Leonore,  glancing  at 
him  apprehensively. 

"I  have  to  start  for  Canada  immediately.  I  have 
received  a  stern  reprimand  from  my  senior  partner 
to-day.  The  time  has  passed  so  pleasantly,  that  I  can 
scarcely  realize  that  I  have  been  absent  from  Toronto 
six  weeks." 

"I  thought,"  said  Arthur,  "that  your  partnership 
was  merely  nominal.  That  your  presence  at  Toronto 
was  unnecessary.  One  would  think  so,  from  your  long 
visits  to  England,  France,  and  many  of  the  States." 

"It  is  as  you  say,"  replied  Mr.  Raymond.  "Yet 
sometimes  I  am  wanted.  Such  is  the  case  at  present." 


160  ALDEANE, 

"  And  must  you  go  soon  ?"  inquired  Leonore,  in  a  low 
voice,  making  a  misdeal  in  her  confusion. 

"  Yes,"  he  returned,  taking  up  his  cards,  and  examin 
ing  them  attentively.  "I  am  sorry  it  is  so,  but  Mr. 
Peirson  is  very  imperative." 

"  So,  I  suppose  we  shall  see  you  no  more  this  winter, 
Mr.  Raymond,"  said  Belle. 

"  I  presume  not,  Miss  Ashton,"  he  answered,  a  look  of 
exquisite  pain  passing  over  his  face  as  he  glanced  at 
Leonore,  who  regarded  him  sorrowfully.  "  But  while  I  am 
in  this  charmed  circle,  '  Away  dull  care  !'  The  cold  and 
darkness  will  come  soon  enough  after  I  leave  you." 

Leonore  sighed.  "  We  shall  miss  you  very  much,  Mr. 
Raymond." 

"  Not  for  long,  I  guess  !"  he  returned,  with  a  forced 
laugh,  and  an  attempt  at  gayety,  which  failed  most 
signally. 

A  cloud  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  the  merriment  of  all 
within  hearing  of  this  conversation.  With  the  intuitive 
sympathy  of  woman,  Belle  felt  all  that  was  passing  in 
Leonore's  heart,  and  knew  the  changing  emotions  that 
flushed  or  paled  her  cheeks.  And  when,  at  a  late  hour, 
the  party  were  preparing  to  return  to  Morganvale, 
Belle  insisted  that  she  should  not  again  encounter  the 
chill  midnight  air ;  but  urged  her  to  remain  with  her  for  the 
night ;  for  she  rightly  conjectured,  that  the  night  would 
be  passed  away  in  tears  in  the  solitude  of  her  chamber, 
when  the  presence  of  another  would  check  her  gi'ief. 
Leonore  gladly  accepted  the  invitation  and,  as  the  others 
were  aboiit  to  depart,  Dr.  Morgan  said : — 

"  No  doubt,  Mr.  Raymond  will  be  happy  to  come  for 
you  in  the  morning,  Nora.  If  not,  I  will  do  so  my 
self." 

"  I  had  already  promised  myself  that  pleasure  !"  inter 
posed  Mr.  Raymond,  "  and  I  assure  you  I  do  not  wish 
to  be  deprived  of  it." 


ALDEANE.  161 

Leonore  bowed,  saying :  "  What  time  may  I  expect 
you,  then  ?" 

"  At  about  ten  o'clock,  Miss  Arendell !  I  doubt 
whether  I  should  find  you  up  before ;  your  drooping  lids 
now  attest  your  weariness." 

"  Then  let  us  go  before  she  falls  asleep !"  interrupted 
Dr.  Morgan.  Making  their  adieus,  the  company  hastily 
departed,  leaving  the  Ashtons  and  their  guests  to  sepa 
rate  with  many  conflicting  emotions  agitating  the  bosoms 
of  each. 

Leonore  joyfully  assented  to  Belle's  proposal  that  she 

should  share  her  apartment.     After  the  lights  had  been 

put   out,  and   darkness   and   silence   brooded   over   the 

house,  Belle  was  not  surprised  to  find  the  slender  form 

'  beside  her  shaking  with  painfully  suppressed  sobs. 

She  let  her  weep  for  some  tune  unrestrainedly,  know 
ing  well  that  the  cause  of  her  grief  was  the  contemplated 
departure  of  Mr.  Raymond. 

At  last,  in  order  to  turn  her  thoughts,  if  possible,  into 
another  channel,  she  said,  cheerfully :  "  Not  homesick,  I 
hope,  Leonore." 

"  No — yes,"  she  sobbed. 

Belle  kissed  her  wet  cheek,  saying  kindly,  "  There  are 
hearts  that  love  you  here,  as  well  as  there,  Leonore." 

"  Yes,  but  I  want  to  see  the  children  and  Miss  Aldeane. 
I  love  her  so  much,  she  is  so  good  to  every  one." 

"  She  is,  indeed,  I  long  to  see  her ;  but  don't  cry,  dear, 
you  will  soon  return  home." 

"  Not  until  spring,  pa  says.  We  are  to  go  back  through 
Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  and  Washington.  Oh,  I  wish  it 
was  all  over  with." 

"  Why,  Leonore  ?" 

"  Oh,  because ."  A  fresh  burst  of  tears  interrupted 

the  sentence,  but  at  last  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "  It  will  be 
so  lonely  when  Mr.  Raymond  is  gone.  You  know  he  has 
taken  me  everywhere  in  and  around  Boston.  He  is  so 


162  ALDEANE. 

very  handsome !  Don't  you  think  so,  Miss  Belle  ?  It  is 
strange  that  any  one  so  dark  should  be  handsome ;  he  is 
darker  than  Mr.  Guthrie." 

Belle  made  no  reply,  Leonore  wept  on,  but  the  violence 
of  her  grief  was  soon  exhausted,  and  wearied  out,  she 
soon  became  calmer. 

"  Doubtless,"  said  Belle,  "  Mr.  Raymond  will  soon  come 
back ;  he  travels  so  much,  that  I  truly  believe  he  will." 

"  Do  you,  indeed,  Miss  Ashton  ?  Oh,  I  am  so  glad," 
and  like  a  comforted  child,  Leonore  fell  into  a  deep  sleep, 
and  Belle  knew  that  her  object  was  attained,  and  fondly 
remembering  her  own  happiness,  prayed  earnestly  for 
that  of  her  gentle  little  friend. 

Mr.  Raymond,  as  he  had  promised  to  do,  came  at  about 
noon  the  following  day  to  escort  Miss  Arendell  home, 
and  Belle  was  greatly  disappointed,  when  she  met  them  at 
Morganvale,  a  few  hours  later,  where  they  were  engaged 
for  the  New  Year's  dinner,  to  discover  no  trace  of  any 
satisfactory  explanation  having  taken  place  between  them, 
and  that  evening  informed  Arthur  in  confidence,  that  if 
George  Raymond  did  not  declare  his  love  for  Leonore 
before  he  left  Morganvale,  she  should  believe  him  to  be 
an  unprincipled  villain. 

And  this  opinion  of  his  character  was  assuredly  hers, 
when  he  left  them  two  days  later,  without  making  the 
expected  declaration, — at  least  if  the  6ATident  sadness  of 
Leonore  and  the  general  reticence  of  all  at  Morganvale 
were  to  be  taken  as  evidence ;  and  Miss  Belle  Ashton,  in 
no  measured  terms,  expressed  her  indignation  to  Aldeane 
Guthrie,  and,  strangely  enough,  relieved  her  of  a  load  of 
anxieties  and  fears  which  had  unaccountably  weighed 
down  her  heart  and  mind.  And  thereafter  it  was  much 
easier  for  her  to  await  patiently  the  time  when  she  should 
again  clasp  in  her  arms  her  innocent,  loving,  and  beloved 
pupil. 

But  before  that  time  came,  she  had  fresh  troubles  of 


ALDEANE.  163 

her  own  to  encounter ;  the  hateful  attentions  of  the  ex- 
overseer  were  continually  pressed  upon  her,  and  she  had 
learned,  too,  long  before  this,  without  knowing  why  or 
how,  that  he  possessed  a  certain  power  over  Colonel  Aren- 
dell  which  would  render  any  appeal  from  her  perfectly 
xiseless,  and  she  knew  that  she  must  fight  alone  with  this 
man  her  battle,  and  firmly  resolved,  let  what  would  come, 
that  she  would  never  yield.  Not  that  he  threatened  her. 
But  she  fancied  that  he  had  shown  her  that  it  was  in  his 
power  to  do  so.  He  had  spoken  of  her  mother  in  mys 
terious  tones,  and  he  had  told  her,  if  she  had  one  enemy 
in  the  world — and  he  had  hinted  that  that  enemy  might 
be  her  step-father — lie  would  ruin  him,  and  do  more  for 
her,  and  hers,  than  he  dared  mention,  if  she  would  but  be 
his  wife. 

All  this  he  said  to  her,  and  yet  she  could  gain  nothing 
from  him  that  would  make  his  purpose  or  her  interest 
in  it  clearer,  and  so  doubting,  fearing,  yet  defying  her 
tormentor,  Aldeane  passed  the  long  and  lonely  winter. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

LEONORE'S  LITTLE  SECKET. 

EARLY  in  April  the  Arendells  were  expected  home. 
Frank  and  Eddie  insisted  upon  accompanying  the  car 
riage  to  Loring  to  meet  them.  Aldeane  and  Jessie  were 
upon  the  porch  impatiently  waiting  their  arrival,  while 
Aunt  Roxy  and  her  aids  bustled  in  and  out  of  the  kitchen 
to  the  dining-room  and  pantries,  in  hopeless  confusion 
over  the  dinner  in  preparation  for  their  welcome.  Al 
deane  vainly  endeavored  to  induce  Jessie  to  be  still ;  she 
made  litMe  excursions  to  the  gate,  then  farther  on  to  the 
bridge,  returning  each  time  with  the  mournful  intelli 
gence,  "  They  ain't  a-coming  yet." 

Aldeane  Avas  scarcely  less  anxious  than  her  pupils,  to 
see  the  travelers  back  again.  The  winter  months  had 
passed  drearily,  but  on  account  of  her  double  duties,  she 
had  Jiad  but  little  time  for  sorrowful  reflections.  She 
had  doffed  her  mourning  garments,  and  the  plain  blue 
dress  she  wore  harmonized  well  with  her  bright  complex 
ion,  giving  her  a  more  cheerful  appearance  than  she  had 
worn  for  many  months.  Smiles  of  pleased  expectation 
too  passed  over  her  face,  effectually  destroying  every 
trace  of  sadness.  At  last  the  carriage,  greeted  by  a  shout 
of  joy  from  the  negroes,  appeared  in  view.  Running  down 
the  walk,  Aldeane  caught  Leonore  in  her  arms  as  she  de 
scended  from  the  carriage,  receiving  her  first  kiss,  while 
Jessie  climbed  into  the  carriage  to  her  mother,  over 
whelming  her  with  caresses.  Colonel  Arendell  greeted 
Aldeane  cordially,  exclaiming : — 


ALDEANE.  165 

"Why!  Miss  Guthrie,  how  well  you  look!  So  you 
have  put  off  mourning  in  honor  of  our  arrival,  eh  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir !"  she  replied.  "  I  assure  you  I  am  so  glad  to 
see  you  back  that  I  can  not  testify  my  joy  sufficiently." 

The  servants  gathered  around  the  travelers,  who,  after 
speaking  to  them,  made  their  way  into  the  house,  and  to 
their  own  apartments.  They  soon  met  at  the  dinner-table, 
to  discuss  that  welcome  meal.  The  trunks  had  all  been 
brought  into  the  hall,  and  they  were  opened,  displaying 
a  great  variety  of  presents  for  the  servants,  which  they 
received  with  many  manifestations  of  delight.  A  bright 
chintz  dress  and  a  large  pair  of  ear-rings  for  Aunt  Roxy, 
and  a  vest  of  showy  pattern  for  Jule,  causing  the  most 
envy.  Leonore  distributed  the  gifts  to  the  little  negroes, 
who  had  assembled  together  in  the  yard.  One  little  fel 
low  was  throwing  pebbles  at  some  birds  in  the  trees. 
"  Don't  throw  stones  at  the  birds,  Len,"  said  Leonore. 
"  I  have  often  forbidden  you  to  do  it." 

"  Lor'  !•  missus,  'tain't  nothin'  but  a  little  rock,  'twon't 
hurt  the  birds." 

He  threw  it  with  \inerring  aim,  and  a  sparrow  fell  flut 
tering  to  the  ground. 

"  You  are  a  bad  boy,  Len !  a  very  bad  boy !"  ex 
claimed  Leonore. 

His  mother  sprang  out  of  the  porch  and  administered 
two  or  three  sounding  slaps  to  the  offender.  "  Dere  now, 
take  dat !  Ain't  yer  ashamed  to  act  dat  way  afore  yer 
young  missus  !" 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  a  very  bad  boy,  Len !"  said  Leo 
nore,  gravely.  "  I  don't  believe  that  there  is  any  good 
ness  in  you." 

"  Oh !  yes,  missus,  dere  is !"  he  whimpered.  "  Dere's 
a  plenty  in  me,  but  it  stays  dar ;  it  won't  come  out !" 

Leonore  turned  aside  to  conceal  a  smile,  the  negroes 
went  away  to  the  kitchen  to  sound  the  praises  of  "  mass'r 
and  missus  "  and  to  inspect  anew  their  treasures. 


106  ALDEANE. 

Aldeane  and  the  children  were  not  forgotten.  The 
Aren dells  presented  her  with  many  costly  articles  ;  while 
a  large  roll  of  music,  some  new  books,  and,  above  all, 
miniatures  of  themselves,  were  the  joint  offerings  of 
Arthur  and  Belle. 

Leonore  seemed  delighted  to  be  again  at  home.  She 
entertained  ALdeane,  the  children,  and  servants  with  ani 
mated  descriptions  of  her  travels,  telling  of  all  the  par 
ties  she  had  attended,  and  the  places  she  had  visited, 
which  were  entered  by  the  slaves  upon  their  catalogue 
of  the  wonderful.  Happily  for  Aldeane,  Doctor  Morgan's 
wedding  had  become  an  old  thing,  and  it  was  only  men 
tioned  casually.  Aldeane  was  deeply  gratified  by  this 
reticence,  as  she  had  feared  a  betrayal  of,  or  at  least  a 
deep- trial  to,  her  feelings,  should  the  subject  be  fully  in 
troduced.  She  listened  eagerly  to  all  concerning  Arthur 
and  Belle.  Of  their  engagement  she  had  heard  from 

O     O 

both.  Deeply  thankful  was  she  that  her  brother  and  her 
dearest  friend,  with  mutual  love  and  trust,  were  to  tread 
life's  path  together. 

A  few  days  after  the  return  of  the  Arendells,  Jule  en 
tered  the  room  with  a  number  of  letters,  which  he  gave 
to  Colonel  Arendell. 

"  Any  for  me,  papa  ?"  inquired  Leonore,  eagerly. 

He  looked  at  them.  "  Two  for  Miss  Guthrie ;  one  for 
Mrs.  Arendell ;  three  for  J.  C. ;  and,  yes  !  surely,  one  for 
Miss  Leonore  Arendell !  Why !  who  can  it  be  from  'f 
he  said,  looking  at  her  slyly. 

"  Oh  !  papa,  please  give  it  to  me !"  she  exclaimed, 
blushing ;  and,  snatching  the  letter  from  his  hand,  she 
hastened  from  the  room. 

Mrs.  Arendell  smiled  and,  glancing  at  the  colonel, 
said, — 

"  Dear  child !  that  letter  contains  at  least  a  week's  hap 
piness  for  her.  Aldeane,  we  have  not  yet  told  you — but 
it  is  as  well  for  you  to  know — that  our  Nora  is  engaged 


ALDEANE.  167 

to  a  most  worthy,  handsome,  and  intelligent  gentleman, 
Mr.  George  Raymond,  of  Toronto." 

"  Indeed  !  I  am  exceedingly  surprised,"  she  exclaimed, 
most  truthfully.  "  She  has  often  written  to  me  of  him  in 
terms  of  high  praise,  but  ,1  had  no  idea  that  they  were 
engaged !  I  thought  that  they  finally  separated  in  Janu 
ary." 

"  Oh !  no ;  we  met  him  afterward,  quite  accidentally,  in 
New  York.  I  suppose  Leon  ore  has  been  keeping  her 
secret  for  oral  communication.  You  must  go  to  her  for 
particulars.  The  only  objection  we  have  to  it  at  all  is, 
that  he  urges  an  immediate  union;  and  she,  one  can 
;  readily  see,  is  not  averse  to  it.  So  we  have  given  our 
consent  for  them  to  be  married  in  June." 

"  So  soon !"  ejaculated  Aldeane. 

"  Yes.  I  know  it  is  a  very  short  engagement,  and  she 
is  young,  but  Mr.  Raymond  is  not ;  and  we  place  such 
perfect  confidence  in  him  that  we  do  not  fear  for  her  wel 
fare,"  returned  Mrs.  Arendell. 

Aldeane  asked  no  more;  but,  soon  after  reading  her 
letters,  one  of  which  was  from  Belle,  who  descanted  at 
length  upon  the  "  sweet  little  house  pa  is  building  for  us 
in  Boston,"  she  left  the  room ;  and  in  passing  the  door  of 
Leonore's  apartment,  opened  it,  and  found  her  absorbed 
in  the  perusal  of  her  letter. 

"  Come  in,  Miss  Aldeane !"  she  said,  lifting  up  her  eyes, 
full  of  joyful  tears. 

Aldeane  approached  her,  and  smoothing  down  her 
brown  curls,  said  softly,  "  I  know  all  about  it,  Leonore, 
dear.  May  you  be  happy  with  the  husband  of  your 
choice !" 

"  Has  papa  told  you  all  ?"  inquired  Leonore,  blushing. 

"  Nothing  but  the  name  and  position  of  your  betrothed, 
lie  referred  me  to  you  for  particulars,  and  indeed  I  am 
.most  anxious  to  hear  them,  for  I  was  once  well  ac 
quainted  with  Mr.  Raymond." 


168  ALDEANE. 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  were,  my  dearest  darling,"  ex 
claimed  Leonore,  kissing  her,  as  if  her  worth  was 
increased  a  thousand-fold  by  that  fact.  "  And  isn't  he 
handsome,  my  dear  Miss  Aldeane,  and  so  learned,  and 
so  majestic  altogether.  Isn't  ,it  the  greatest  wonder  in 
the  world  that  he  ever  took  any  notice  of  me  ?" 

"  Such  a  plain  little  creature !"  laughed  Aldeane 
gayly,  and  yet  with  that  unaccountable  sinking  of  heart 
which  had  always  come  upon  her  at  the  thought  of  this 
eArent,  over  which  she  was  expected,  and  earnestly 
endeavored,  to  rejoice  ;  "  and  now  tell  me,  my  own,  how 
this  miracle  was  brought  about,  how  he  ever  descended 
from  his  height  to  look  at  you." 

"Ah,  now  I  know  you  are  laughing  at  me,"  cried 
Leonore,  blushing,  and  pinching  the  cheek  of  her  friend ; 
"  but  indeed,  though  you  say  it  in  fun,  I  think  it  was  a 
miracle.  Even  now,  I  can  scarcely  believe  he  loves  me." 

"I  used  to  think  him  very  truthful,"  remarked 
Aldeane,  with  mock  gravity,  and  then  Leonore  pinched 
her  cheek  again,  and  when  Aldeane  entreated  her  "  to 
tell  her  all  about  it,"  she  said  she  would  only  do  it  on 
condition  that  Aldeane  made  no  more  confusing  re 
marks,  but  listened  to  her  in  silence  from  beginning  to 
end. 

To  this  Aldeane  very  readily  agreed,  and  Leonore 
delightedly  began  the  relation  of  the  great  event  of  her 
life — an  event  which  in  strangeness  and  joyfulness  she 
firmly  believed  had  never  been  equaled,  "because  he 
loves  me  so,  you  know,"  she  could  not  help  pausing  to 
explain. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Aldeane,  pretending  pique,  "  but  I 
really  think  you  might  have  told  me  your  secret 
before." 

"  And  so  I  ought,"  exclaimed  Leonore,  quite  penitently, 
"but  it  was  such  a  charming  one  to  keep,  and  grew  so 
much  better  all  the  time.  But  in  fact,"  she  added 


ALDEANE.  169 

seriously,  "I  never  knew  how  to  begin,  for  you  never 
asked  .me  any  questions.  Why  didn't  you,  now  ?  I 
should  have  asked  a  thousand  questions  if  I  had  been  in 
your  place." 

Aldeane  laughed,  as  she  answered,  "I  thought  the 
matter  was  settled  long  ago." 

"Oh,  yes,  when  I  wrote  you  of  his  departure  for 
Canada." 

Aldeane  nodded. 

"  And  so  you  guessed  my  feelings  though  I  did  not 
tell  you  a  word,  of  how,  in  secret,  I  grieved  over  his 
absence,  which  caused  a  void  in  my  heart  that  nothing 
could  fill,  and  a  pain  that  nothing  could  assuage !" 

"  No." 

"  I  believe  Miss  Ashton  guessed  it  all,  though,  for  she 
was  so  kind  and  gentle  to  me  then,  and  afterward.  She 
continually  prophesied  that  he  would  return ;  but  he 
came  not.  We  did  not  correspond,  for  he  left  me  seem 
ingly  with  the  mere  sorrow  one  feels  at  breaking  up  a 
pleasant  acquaintanceship,  fully  convincing  me  that  he 
thought  of  me,  merely  as  the  friend  of  an  hour,  while  I 
felt  that  to  me  he  was  the  love  of  a  lifetime.  I  heard  of 
him,  through  his  letters  to  Uncle  Fred,  during  our  stay 
at  Morganvale,  but  in  a  few  weeks  we  left  there,  and 
went  to  New  York.  Mother  has  many  friends  tjiere ; 
and  we  lived  very  gayly,  attending  many  parties,  visiting 
the  theaters  and  other  places  of  amusement,  besides 
which,  we  stayed,  at  the  most  fashionable  hotel,  where 
there  was  much  to  be  seen  to  interest  and  amuse  one. 
But,  notwithstanding  all  these  attractions,  I  was  ill  at 
ease,  and  longed  for  the  quiet  of  home,  and  your  dear 
companionship,  Miss  Aldeane. 

"  One  day,  when  we  had  been  there  about  two  weeks, 
while  at  the  dinner-table,  to  my  great  surprise  I  saw  Mr. 
Raymond  enter,  and  take  a  seat  immediately  opposite 
me.  He  observed  me  a  moment  afterward  \  apparently 


1YO  ALDEANE. 

his  surprise  was  greater  than  my  own,  and  his  emotion 
to  me  then  inexplicable.  He  half  rose  from  his  chair,  the 
whiteness  of  his  face  terrifying  me.  But  it  flushed  crim 
son  instantaneously,  and  bowing  politely  he  reseated  him 
self.  Pa  and  ma  were  delighted  to  see  him,  and  invited 
him  to  our  private  apartments.  He  came  and  spent  the 
evening  with  us.  I  was  entranced  by  his  conversation 
and  his  calm  majestic  bearing.  His  dark  eyes  that 
flashed  almost  fiercely  upon  others,  beamed  with  gentle 
ness  011  me.  His  voice  seemed  to  assume  a  lower  key 
and  a  greater  degree  of  sweetness,  when  he  addressed 
me.  I  waited  with  eagerness  for  every  word,  and 
possessed  exquisite  happiness  if  he  smiled  upon  me. 

"  You  may  think  this  very  foolish,  Miss  Aldeane,  but  I 
can  not  help  it.  He  fascinates  me,  I  even  tremble  in  his 
presence,  while  his  mind  seems  without  an  efibrt  to  rule 
my  own,  and  my  heart  with  it.  I  felt  all  this  more 
deeply  then  than  I  do  now,  when  I  can  lay  my  head 
upon  his  throbbing  bosom,  and  smile  away  liis  frowns. 

"  But  this  freedom  was  not  easily  obtained.  A  fierce 
struggle  seemed  to  agitate  him  before  he  spoke  those 
words  that  insured  my  happiness.  Father  and  mother 
had  gone  out  to  spend  the  evening.  I  had  excused  my 
self  from  going  with  them,  and  was  left  alone  in  our 
apartments,  but  not  for  long,  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door,  and  opening  it  I  saw  Mr.  Raymond. 

" '  Is  Colgyael  Arendell  within  ?'  he.asked,  after  saluting 

" '  No,  pa  *a*nd  ma  are  both  out,'  I  replied. 

"'Then  I  will  go  away  again,'  he  said,  eyeing  me 
nervously,  and  turning  the  door  knob,  as  if  he  wished  an 
invitation  to  enter. 

"  '  Pity  my  loneliness !'  I  said,  smiling. 

"  He  came  in ;  I  took  a  chair  near  the  grate,  pointing  him 
to  one  opposite.  He  did  not  take  it,  but  leaned  against 
the  mantel-piece,  looking  at  me  so  strangely,  (hat  I 


ALDEANE.  171 

trembled  beneath  his  gaze.  My  heart  must  have  been 
reflected  in  my  face,  for  suddenly  he  threw  himself  down 
before  me,  clasping  my  hands  in  his,  and  exclaimed, 
'  Leonore !  Leonore  !  I  am  dying  for  love  of  you !  Will 
you.  Can  you  love  me  ?' 

"  I  was  so  overcome  with  surprise  and  emotion,  that  I 
could  not  answer.  His  eyes  were  fixed  in  an  intense 
gaze  upon  mine.  '  For  God's  sake  tell  me  ?'  he  pleaded, 
and  I  murmured,  '  Yes.' 

"  He  seemed  overwhelmed  with  delight.  As  he  pressed 
my  head  against  his  bosom,  and  held  me  in  his  strong 
arms,  he  whispered,  '  And  you  will  be  my  wife !' 

"  I  raised  my  eyes  to  his  face,  that  they  might  answer 
for  me ;  a  change  passed  over  him.  He  became  as  pale 
«as  death,  and  staggering  back  a  few  paces,  muttered 
hoarsely,  '  No !  no !  such  sweetness  and  beauty,  such 
perfect  love  and  trust,  can  never  be  mine  !' 

" '  They  shall  be  yours  alone !'  I  exclaimed,  clinging 
still  more  closely  to  him,  for  I  could  not  lose  my  new 
found  happiness  so  quickly.  He  bent  down  and  kissed 
me,  murmuring  repeatedly,  '  God  wills  it !  It  is  his 
recompense !' 

"  I  could  not  bear  the  fierce  light  in  his  eyes,  and  the 
look  of  exultation  with  which  he  regarded  me.  An  inde 
finable  fear  crept  into  my  heart.  I  felt  his  caresses  shud- 
deringly,  but  when  I  again  glanced  up,  tenderness  and 
joy  illumined  his  features,  and  the  words  l^Bpoke  were 
those  of  love  and  cheer ;  and  peace  again  filled  my  heart. 

"  Papa  readily  gave  his  consent  to  our  union.  Mr. 
Raymond  seemed  so  pleased  with  his  confidence^  though 
papa  told  him  there  was  no  merit  in  that,  as  he  had 
taken  especial  pains  to  learn  all  particulars  concerning 
him,  from  the  proper  sources.  There  was  one  little  thing 
which  papa  seemed  disposed  to  object  to,  for  even  Mr. 
Raymond  couldn't  say  who  and  what  he  really  was. 
But,  do  you  know,  Aldenne,  I  was  almost  glad  of  that, 


172  ALDEANE. 

for  he  is  so  superior  to  me  in  every  other  respect,  that  I 
was  glad  even  to  have  so  slight  a  thing  as  good  birth  to 
balance  my  inferiority." 

Aldeane  looked  at  her  gravely.  "  I  almost  think  you 
wrong,"  she  said.  "  From  what  I  remember  of  his  fre 
quent  fits  of  abstraction  and  gloom,  I  should  think  the 
subject  troubles  him,  and  why  should  it  not  you  ?" 

"Because  I  love  him,  Miss  Aldeane.  I  love  him.  I 
should  love  him  still,  if  he  was  proved  to  have  sprung  from 
the  lowest  of  mankind.  And  what  difference  is  it  what 
he  has  been,  now  that  he  is  so  highly  respected  ?  I,  for 
one,  am  satisfied.  I  love  him." 

After  some  further  conversation,  Aldeane  left  the  room, 
thinking  deeply  upon  all  she  had  heard,  in  connection 
with  the  handsome,  yet  weird-looking  man,  who  had  so 
completely  won  the  love  and  confidence  of  Leonore 
Arendell.  That  she,  so  light  hearted  and  gay,  could 
even  have  conceived  a  liking  for  him,  was  to  her  incom 
prehensible  ;  but  as  she  had  herself  said,  he  seemed  to  rule 
both  her  mind  and  heart.  She  prayed  that  it  might  be  for 
good  and  happiness ;  but  her  heart  was  oppressed  by  many 
sad  misgivings,  which  she  tried  in  vain  to  overcome. 

Preparations  were  quietly  made  for  the  wedding.  The 
sewing-room  was  constantly  open,  and  seamstresses  were 
busily  employed  upon  piles  of  silks  and  linens,  laces  and 
embroideries,  over  which  the  bride  elect  kept  anxious 
watch.  Aldeane  was  often  called  in  to  admire  some 
finished  article,  or  to  be  consulted  with  upon  some  import 
ant  point. 

The  music  lessons  were  short,  for  Leonore  objected 
to  practicing.  "She  would  do  so  when  she  had  more 
leisure,  for  George  loved  music ;"  but  now  the  piano  was 
given  up  entirely  to  Jessie;  and  thus  after  school-hours 
Aldeane  enjoyed  full  leisure,  which  she  spent  with  her 
books  or  the  family,  for  she  dreaded  nothing  so  much  as 
long  or  frequent  companionship  with  her  own  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    OLD   AEBOK   AT   GBASSMERE. 

THE  time  passed  quickly  and  busily,  and  the  da'y  set  for 
Mr.  Raymond's  arrival  was  at  hand.  Aldeane  owned  to 
herself  no  slight  curiosity  to  see  him  once  more,  and  to 
learn  from  his  appearance  whether  she  had  the  same 
cause  for  heart  depression  that  she  had  noticed  in  him 
three  years  before.  In  the  day  of  his  coming,  there 
seemed  every  omen  of  good,  and  Aldeane  called  herself 
weak  enough  to  be  encouraged  by  it,  to  entertain  more 
hopeful  feelings  concerning  the  future  of  her  pupil  than 
had  before  been  hers.  The  sky  was  cloudless,  and  rested, 
a  canopy  of  azure  brightness  over  the  green  earth.  The 
soft  and  breezy  air  was  redolent  with  the  perfumes  of  the 
flowers  of  May.  Aldeane  received  this  as  an  omen  of 
good.  Nature,  at  least,  seemed  propitious.  She  would  not 
have  had  the  day  dark  and  dreary  on  which  he  was  to 
appear,  who  was  to  take  the  sunshine  from  their  Southern 
bower,  to  smile  upon  the  snows  of  the  North.  Yet  a 
foreboding  of  evil,  faint  yet  lasting,  saddened  her  heart. 
Leonore,  on  the  contrary,  seemed  devoid  of  all  apprehen 
sion.  After  completing  her  afternoon  toilet,  she  entered 
Aldeane's  room,  exclaiming :  "  Look,  Miss  Allie !  will 
George  be  ashamed  of  me,  think  you  ?" 

She  wore  a  light  blue  dress,  of  some  delicate  fabric. 
It  was  cut  low  on  the  white  shoulders,  which  were  half 
covered  by  a  profusion  of  brown  ringlets,  which  fell  back 
from  her  joyous  face,  repealing  the  low  white  forehead, 
the  gentle  brown  eyes,  the  rounded  cheeks,  flushed  with 


174  ALDEANE. 

excitement,  and  the  full  poxiting  lips,  which  were  parted 
by  a  smile,  disclosing  the  tiny  white  teeth  behind  them. 
Aldeane  took  a  spray  of  tea-roses  from  a  vase,  and  twin 
ing  it  amid  her  curls,  said : — 

"  Unless  Mr.  Raymond  has  very  bad  taste,  which  I 
don't  believe,  he  can  not  fail  to  love  you  better  than  ever, 
Nora." 

"  Only  half  an  hour  more  !"  returned  Leonore,  "  and  he 
will  be  here.  I  told  Uncle  Adam  to  drive  fast ;  besides, 
papa  will  hurry  him." 

She  took  a  seat  at  the  window,  whence  she  often 
glanced  up  the  road.  At  last  she  exclaimed  fretfully: 
"  Oh !  will  they  ever  come  ?  This  half  hour  is  longer  than 
the  whole  week  has  been !  How  slow  they  are  !" 

"  Have  patience,  Leonore." 

"  Oh  !  here  they  come !  here  they  come !"  she  ex 
claimed  a  moment  later,  leaning  out  of  the  window. 
"  They  are  away  up  the  road."  She  arose  and  ran  to  the 
door,  her  face  beaming  with  joyful  anticipation.  "  No,  I 
won't  go  down  till  they  call  me,"  she  said,  retreating 
slowly  to  the  window.  "  Yes  !  I  will  though  ;  you  know 
he  will  think  me  cruel !"  and  yielding  to  her  inclinations, 
she  ran  down-stairs,  just  as  the  carriage  stopped  before 
the  gate. 

Aldeane  turned  to  the  window.  Colonel  Arendell 
alighted  from  the  carriage,  and  Mr.  Raymond  sprang 
quickly  after  him.  She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment 
with  curiosity.  The  features,  the  olive  complexion,  the 
dark  eyes,  the  majestic  form  she  had  known,  were  all 
there,  but  the  fierce,  stern  expression  was  gone.  His  face 
was  lighted  up  by  a  look  of  impatient  love  and  joy,  such 
as  she  had  supposed  him  incapable  of  wearing.  Leonore 
ran  down  the  path  to  meet  him.  As  if  she  was  a  child 
he  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her,  his  dark  face 
resting  upon  her  fair  cheeks,  while  he  whispered  words 
that  caused  them  to.,  mantle  with  blushes  and  smiles. 


ALDEANE.  175 

They  came  up  to  the  porch,  where  Aldeane  could  no 
longer  see  them,  but  she  heard  Mrs.  Arendell  welcome 
him,  and  his  reply,  delivered  in  a  rich,  musical  voice. 
Leonore  asked  many  questions.  "  How  long  he  had  been 
on  his  journey  ;  whether  Annie  was  well,  and  when  he  had 
last  seen  Uncle  Fred  ?"  Aldeane  listened  intently  for  his 
answer. 

"  I  saw  him  in  New  York  as  I  came  through.  You 
know  Mrs.  Morgan  is  never  very  strong,  but  she  was  as 
well  as  usual.  Fred's  health  was  quite  poor,  though  he 
insisted  upon  it  that  he  never  was  better  in  his  life." 

"  Ah !  dear !"  said  Mrs.  Arendell  "  I  think  he  must 
have  caught  cold  on  his  return  North ;  but  he  is  so  obsti 
nate — altogether  refusing  and  disdaining  medical  advice, 
when  any  one  can  see  that  he  needs  it  badly." 

Aldeane  heard  them  enter  the  parlor,  and  the  dull  hum 
of  conversation,  and  at  last  in  Leonore's  loudest  tones,  the 
question : 

"  Where  is  Aldeane  ?  Zettie,  ask  Miss  Guthrie  to 
come  here." 

She  left  her  room,  and  met  the  girl  upon  the  stairs. 
"  I  am  going  down,  Zettie,"  she  said,  as  she  began  her 
message ;  and  passing  on,  in  a  moment  stood  at  the  par 
lor  door. 

Mr,  Raymond  sat  near  a  large  window,  opening  upon 
the  garden,  which  sloped  gently  down  to  the  river.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  it,  as  if  it  were  a  haunt  of  his  child 
hood,  or  the  realization  of  a  dream.  Jessie  was  sitting 
upon  his  knee,  looking  furtively  up  at  his  face,  while  Ed 
die  stood  bashfully  a  little  behind  him,  and  Frank  at  the 
window,  eagerly  describing  the  fine  sport  to  be  found  in 
the  woods,  a  little  farther  up  the  river.  Leonore  was  lean 
ing  upon  the  piano,  her  face  beaming  with  animated  smiles. 
Not  wishing  to  break  in  upon  this  happy  scene,  Aldeane 
was  about  softly  to  retreat,  when  Leonore  observed  her, 
and  springing  forward,  caught  her  hand,  and  led  her  into 


176  ALDEANE. 

the  room,  saying,  "  This  is  Miss  Aldeane,  that  you  have 
heard  me  speak  of  so  often,  Mr.  Raymond." 

He  lifted  his  eyes  to  her  face  with  an  abstracted  look, 
so  like  that  he  had  worn  of  old,  that  it  pained  her  inex 
pressibly,  though  it  instantly  fled  as  he  recognized  her. 

To  her  at  least  it  was  quite  a  joyous  meeting.  He  told 
her  a  thousand  things  of  Arthur  and  Belle,  which  she  was 
delighted  to  hear,  but  even  when  he  was  most  vivacious, 
that  pained  look  would  return  to  his  face,  as  if  his  great 
est  art  in  that  time  and  place,  could  not  keep  it  at  bay. 

He  seemed  charmed  with  the  beauty  and  artlessness  of 
little  Jessie,  and  soon  her  timidity  departing,  she  sat 
more  at  ease  upon  his  knee,  and  laughed  and  chatted 
gayly,  leaning  her  bright,  curly  head  against  him,  and 
toying  delightedly  with  a  magnificent  diamond  ring 
which  was  upon  his  finger.  Aldeane  was  struck  with 
the  similarity  of  the  beauty  of  the  little  child's  face,  to 
that  of  the  man  looking  down  upon  her.  He  was  darker, 
his  features  were  more  clearly-*  defined,  but  the  expres 
sion  of  the  two  faces  was  the  same.  She  looked  at  them 
for  some  time,  then  turning  to  Leonore  she  said  in  a  low 
voice :  "Don't  you  think  Jessie  resembles  Mr.  Raymond." 

"  I  was  just  thinking  of  the  same"  thing,  but  thought 
that  it  must  be  a  delusion.  Strange,  is  it  not  ?" 

Jessie  at  that  moment  slipped  from  Mr.  Raymond's 
arms  and  ran  from  th£  room.  Rising,  he  said,  "  Play  for 
me,  Leonore,  something  lively." 

She  sat  down  to  the  piano  saying :  "  Don't  scold,  but 
indeed  I  have'iiot  practiced  any  since  I  came  home." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  too  bad.     And  why  haven't  you  ?" 

"  I  have  been  so  busy,"  she  replied,  a  brighter  tinge  of 
color  rising  to  her  cheeks  as  she  commenced  a  lively  waltz. 
He  smiled  proudly,  and  turning  to  a  side-table  on  which 
were  some  miniatures,  took  up  one  and  opened  it,  but 
started  as  his  eye  fell  upon  the  fbrtrait.  He,  however, 
continued  to  gaze  at  it,  and  Aldeane  saw  the  expression 


ALDEANE.  177 

of  liis  likeness  steal  over  his  face  and  flash  from  his 
eyes. 

Jessie  came  in  with  a  kitten  in  her  arms,  to  which  she 
called  his  attention.  Aldeane  looked  at  the  two  faces 
again ;  the  resemblance  was  gone,  not  a  trace  of  it  re 
mained.  "  'Twas  all  fancy  1"  she  thought.  "  They  are 
not  at  all  alike."  Mr.  Raymond  bent  down,  and  taking 
the  kitten  from  Jessie,  commenced  in  an  absent  manner 
to  stroke  its  fur  against  the  grain,  while  the  little  animal 
scratched  and  struggled  to  get  free. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Raymond!  Mr.  Raymond!"  cried  Jessie, 
standing  on  tip-toe,  and  clasping  his  arm,  "  give  me  my 
pussy,  you're  a-hurting  her  !" 

He  looked  at  the  cat,  as  if  for  the  first  time  conscious 
that  it  was  in  his  arms,  then  giving  her  to  Jessie,  with  a 
smile,  which  he  strove  to  make  pleasant,  but  which  was 
indeed  acrid,  said :  "  That  is  the  way  we  stroke  Canadian 
cats,  Jessie,  but  yours  don't  seem  to  like  it." 

Jessie  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of  indignant 
incredulity,  and  walked  slowly  from  the  room,  distinctly 
telling  Frank,  who  stood  in  the  doorway,  that  "  Mr.  Ray 
mond  was  right  mean  !  a  heap  meaner  than  any  one  she 
ever  saw  before."  He  laughed  at  this  candid  opinion, 
but  the  gloomy  expression  did  not  wholly  pass  away, 
even  when  •  Leonore  spoke  to  him.  Although  greatly 
modified,  the  fierce  look  still  gleamed  like  smothered  fire 
from  his  eyes,  and  rested  on  his  lips.  That  there  was 
some  mystery,  some  hidden  reason  for  its  appearance, 
Aldeane  was  confident.  This  strange  man  interested  and 
fascinated  her ;  but  it  was  the  fascination  of  dread,  for 
she  truly  and  deeply  feared  him. 

Later  in  the  evening,  while  standing  at  the  parlor  win 
dow,  she  saw  him  and  Leonore  walking  in  the  garden,  by 
the  river-side.  She  looked  almost  diminutive  beside  him. 
His  arm  was  thrown  Rightly  over  her  shoulders,  while 
she  looked  into  the  dark,  handsome  face  bending  over 


178  ALDEANE. 

her,  with  a  trusting,  loving  gaze.  They  were  in  ani 
mated  conversation,  and  at  this  happy  moment  all  traces 
of  the  mysterious  mood  that  had  stamped  his  features 
with  the  glare  of  passion,  was  gone.  Aldeane  admired 
him,  yet  trembled  for  the  fair  young  creature  at  his  side. 

Aunt  Roxy  was  standing  at  the  other  window.  "  Yes, 
he's  de  bery  libin'  image !"  she  said,  in  a  low,  decided 
tone,  "  de  bery  libin'  image  !" 

"  Of  whom  ?"  inquired  Aldeane,  in  surprise. 

"  Dat  ain't  any  business  to  any  body  on  dis  plantation, 
not  meanin'  any  offense  to  you,  marm.  But  I  jes'  know 
Samiry  must  see  him !  dat's  all."  And  with  a  significant 
shake  of  the  head,  Aunt  Roxy  turned  from  the  room, 
leaving  Aldeaue  in  a  state  of  great  perplexity. 

During  the  evening  she  could  not  join  heartily  in  the 
merry  conversation  and  laughter  in  which  the  others  en 
gaged  ;  for  her  thoughts  were  busy,  vainly  endeavoring  to 
find  some  clew  to  the  mystery  that  seemingly  enshrouded 
Mr.  Raymond.  Once,  while  standing  near  the  door,  she 
heard  voices  on  the  portico.  Aunt  Roxy  said,  firmly : 

"  You  kin  believe  it  or  not,  Massa  John,  but  if  he 
don't  look  a  heap  like  him,  may  I  be  whipped  for  a  lazy 
nigger !" 

"  Don't  be  so  foolish,  Roxy !  There's  not  a  particle  of 
resemblance  !  Don't  let  me  hear  another  word  about  it, 
and  remember,  on  your  peril,  speak  of  this  to  any  other 
person.  Now,  begone,  and  let  me  hear  no  more  of  this 
nonsense !" 

Aldeane  had  never  heard  Colonel  Arendell  speak  so 
sternly  to  Roxy  before,  and  was  positive  that  some  strong 
emotion  had  actuated  him  to  do  so  now.  She  turned,  as 
if  to  seek  an  explanation  from  Mr.  Raymond.  Pie  was 
standing  near  her,  and  had  evidently  heard  all  that  had 
passed,  and  thought  it  referred  to  him.  His  face  was 
pale,  and  his  eyes  shone  with  a  basilisk  light,  like  those  of 
a  vengeful,  cowering  tiger.  His  gaze  fell  upon  her,  and 


ALDEANE.  170 

he  approached  her,  his  countenance  assuming  its  wonted 
appearance.  He  addressed  her  upon  some  indifferent 
subject,  and  a  few  moments  passed  in  desultory  conver 
sation.  His  remai'ks  were  brilliant  and  pointed,  and,  to 
the  quick  perceptions  of  his  companion,  revealed  a  mind 
of  giant  strength,  and  an  unconquerable  will  and  energy, 
which  sometimes  broke  through  his  calm  exterior,  in  the 
fierce  glances  she  had  so  often  seen,  and  in  caustic  words 
that  involuntarily  mingled  with  the  choice  language  in 
which  he  spoke.  He  was  to  her  a  perfect  enigma,  chain 
ing  her  attention,  commanding  her  admiration,  yet  filling 
her  with  a  vague  feeling  of  terror ;  not  so  much  when  in 
his  presence,  as  when  she  thought  of  him,  as  she  con 
stantly  did,  in  the  solitude  of  her  chamber,  or  through  the 
dull  hours  of  her  study  in  the  school-room. 

Mr.  Raymond  had  been  at  Arendell  House  two  days, 
when,  at  the  breakfast  table,  he  remarked,  "  Colonel 
Arendell,  you  have  another  estate — Grassmere,  I  believe 
you  call  it.  I  should  like  to  see  it.  Is  it  far  from 
here  ?" 

"  Some  ten  miles  only,"  returned  the  colonel,  "  and  if 
you  like  we  will  go  there  to-morrow.  It  is  a  beautiful 
place  in  the  spring  of  the  year." 

Mr.  Raymond  looked  at  him  searchingly.  "  Then  why 
do  you  not  live  there  V"  he  inquired. 

"  Ah  !"  he  muttered,  "  I  don't  like  it !  I  don't  like  it ! 
It  is  too  full  of  bitter  recollections  ever  to  be  pleasant  to 
me  !  But  I  want  to  go  there.  Will  you  go  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Certainly,  with  pleasure,"  replied  Mr.  Raymond. 

"  You  need  not  think  that  you  are  going  alone,"  ex 
claimed  Leonore ;  "  we  will  make  a  party,  and  all  go, 
children  and  all !" 

"  Yes,  children  and  all !"  repeated  Frank.  "  'Twould 
be  a  pity  to  leave  Ed.  and  Jessie  by  themselves." 

They  all  laughed.  "  Yes,  young  man,  of  ten  summers, 
we  will  all  go,"  said  Mrs.  Arendell,  "  provided  that  you 


180  ALDEANE. 

will  attend  to  your  books  to-day,  and  give  Miss  Guthrie 
no  cause  for  complaint." 

These  terms  were  joyously  acceded  to,  and  they  ran 
away  to  the  school-room,  where  Eddie  soon  got  into  dis 
grace  by  upsetting  an  ink-bottle,  and  Jessie  cried  dolo 
rously  over  her  dress,  which  was  bespattered  with  the 
sable  fluid. 

Notwithstanding  this,  they  all  assembled  the  next  morn 
ing  to  go  to  Grassmere,  and  never  perhaps  had  a  happier 
party  passed  through  the  beautiful  pine-woods  that  lay 
between  the  two  plantations.  Leonore,  Aldeane,  and  Mr. 
Raymond  were  on  horseback,  and  therefore,  perhaps,  as 
they  were  separated  from  the  merry  children,  any  sadness 
or  preoccupation  in  either  of  them  was  instantly  seen ; 
and  in  Mr.  Raymond  at  times  there  was  noticed  a  degree 
of  preoccupation  which  to  Aldeane  was  unaccountable. 

On  his  arrival  at  Grassmere,  he  did  not  immediately 
dismount,  but  remained  at  the  gate,  surveying  the  place 
with  an  intense  gaze  of  admiration  and  delight,  mingled 
with  some  deeper  feeling  not  so  easily  read.  But  soon 
the  dark  cloud,  that  so  often  rested  upon  his  features, 
stole  over  them,  deepening  as  he  apparently  became  lost 
in  profound  reverie.  He  was  aroused  by  Colonel  Aren- 
dell's  inquiry,  "  What  do  you  think  of  the  place,  Ray 
mond  ?" 

He  started,  as  if  from  a  dream,  answering  confusedly, 
"It  is  beautiful,  charming.  You  see  I  forgot  every 
thing  else  in  contemplating  it.  Can  I  give  it  higher 
praise  ?" 

At  that  moment,  Aunt  Samira,  who  had  been  busy 
with  Mrs.  Arendell,  looked  at  him. 

"  The  Lord  have  mercy !"  she  exclaimed,  raising  her 
hands  as  if  to  ward  off  an  apparition,  her  face  turning  a 
sickly  terror-stricken  hue,  "  the  Lord  have  mercy !" 

Mr.  Raymond  looked  at  her  with  a  peculiar  expression 
of  surprise  and  alarm. 


ALDEANE.  181 

"What  is  the  matter  with  the  woman?"  he  asked 
testily,  as  he  dismounted  and  passed  her. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  colonel.  "  She  is  subject 
to  such  fits,  1  believe.  Come  into  the  house,  and  don't 
mind  her." 

Mr.  Raymond  obeyed.  Aunt  Samira  gazed  after  him 
eagerly,  then  uttering  a  low  cry  of  distress,  rushed  into 
the  kitchen, muttering,  "I know  'tain't  him!  I  see  'tain't 
him  !  but  he's  mighty  like  !  mighty  like  !" 

This  little  incident  seemed  to  throw  a  slight  shadow 
over  all,  especially  Aldeane,  who  wearied  herself  with 
vain  conjectures  concerning  their  strange  guest,  and  the 
mystery  by  which,  at  least  to  her,  he  was  surrounded. 
They  soon  separated  into  couples,  for  a  walk  through  the 
grounds.  As  they  approached  the  trumpet-vine  arbor, 
Mr.  Raymond  stopped  before  it,  exclaiming  : — 

"  This  is  the  place  !" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  inquired  Colonel  Arendell, 
nervously. 

"  I  have  dreamed  of  this  place  many  times,"  replied 
Mr.  Raymond,  "yet  it  scarcely  seemed  so  dilapidated. 
Yes,"  he  continued,  pointing  to  the  decaying  logs  that 
protruded  from  the  dense  mass  of  foliage,  "  I  have  seen 
this  often  in  my  visions.  It  is  a  place  to  be  remembered, 
so  peculiar  is  its  wild  beauty.  Why  do  you  preserve  it  ? 
Is  there  a  story  connected  with  it  ?" 

"  Yes ;  a  sad  one  !"  returned  the  colonel,  turning  aside 
hastily.  "  Come  away  ;  the  vines  around  it  are  poisonous, 
and  doubly  so  to  me.  I  can  not  breathe  their  odors  !" 

He  seemed  much  excited.  But  unheeding  his  words, 
Mr.  Raymond  entered  the  bower,  seating  himself  upon 
the  moldering  bench  within,  and  looking  sorrowfully 
around  him.  At  last  he  arose  and  joined  the  group  at 
the  entrance,  saying,  with  a  mournful  smile : — 

"Now  we  will  go!  This  is  a  place  to  awaken  sad 
recollections." 


182  ALDEANE. 

"  It  seems  fraught  with  terrors  to  some  people,"  said 
Leonore,  "  but  I  love  its  decaying  beauty ;  while  papa 
thinks  it  the  gloomiest  place  on  the  whole  plantation." 

"  It  is,"  said  the  colonel,  decidedly,  yet  sadly.  "  Come 
into  the  gardens ;  we  can  find  something  there  more  to 
the  taste  of  all." 

"  Lots  of  strawberries  !"  lisped  Jessie. 

They  laughed,  and  entered  the  gardens,  where  they 
found  Frank  and  Eddie  trampling  down  the  vines,  in 
their  eagerness  to  gather  a  handful  of  ripe  fruit  for  their 
mother  before  the  others  came. 

They  were  called  from  the  gardens  by  the  announce 
ment  of  dinner.  After  partaking  of  it,  Colonel  Arendell 
showed  Mr.  Raymond  over  the  house.  lie  seemed 
deeply  interested  by  all  he  saw,  lingering  longest  in  the 
most  modernly-furnished  rooms,  especially  in  the  library, 
where  the  family  had  gathered.  After  looking  over  sev 
eral  of  the  books  that  were  on  the  shelves,  he  took  down 
one  containing  the  records  of  the  plantation.  Turning  to 
the  list  of  births,  he  commenced  reading  them,  asking 
questions  about  them  as  he  did  so.  Aunt  Sarnira  was 
in  the  room ;  she  evidently  had  not  fully  recovered  her 
equanimity,  and  often  glanced  furtively  at  Mr.  Raymond, 
as  he  scanned  the  closely-written  book.  "  Junius,"  he 
said,  at  length.  "  Ah  1"  your  child  ?"  looking  up  at  Aunt 
Samira. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  replied,  her  eyes  overflowing  with  tears. 
"  Yes,  sir,  he  was  my  chile  !" 

"  Ah  !  the  only  one  ?"  he  pursued. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Dead,  I  suppose !" 

"  The  Lord  only  knows,  sir !"  she  cried  piteously,  as 
she  ran  from  the  room,  her  apron  pressed  close  to  her 
face. 

Mr.  Raymond  did  not  seem  to  hee  1  her  emotions,  but 
turned  over  the  pages  of  the  book.  Frank  was  leaning 


ALDEANE.  183 

on  the  back  of  the  chair,  looking  over  his  shoulder.  "  See 
Eddie  !"  he  cried,  suddenly.  "  It  tells  here  when  our 
Abel  was  born." 

"  What  has  become  of  him  ?"  asked  Mr.  Raymond,  in 
a  low  voice. 

"  Poison  spider  bit  him,"  replied  Frank,  sadly,  at  the 
remembrance  of  his  favorite.  "  He  died  about  a  year 
ago.  He  is  buried  in  the  graveyard,  near  Loring.  I'll 
show  you  the  place,  if  you  like." 

"  Ah  !  so  some  wept  for  him,  poor  fellow,"  said  Mr. 
Raymond,  with  a  sigh.  "  Yes,  Frank,  I  should  like  to 
see  it.  We  will  go  there  some  day." 

"  Dear  George  is  so  tender-hearted,"  whispered  Leo- 
nore  to  Aldeane.  "  One  can  scarcely  comprehend  such 
gentleness  under  such  a  stern  exterior." 

Mr.  Raymond  shut  the  book,  and  replaced  it  upon  the 
shelf,  and,  as  Mrs.  Arendell  and  Leonore  were  called  from 
the  room  to  some  weighty  consultation  with  Aunt  Sa- 
mira,  he  strolled  into  the  garden,  and  soon  disappeai'ed 
among  the  thick  shrubbery. 

An  irresistible  impulse  came  upon  Aldeane  to  rise  and 
follow  him,  for  she  was  convinced  that  he  had  been  in 
that  place  before,  and  under  far  different  circumstances. 
She  was  not  conscious  of  any  trivial  and  mean  desire  to 
k-arn  his  secret  for  the  mere  idle  gratification  of  her  own 
mind,  but  for  the  nobler  reason  that  Leonore  must,  of 
necessity,  be  closely  concerned  therein ;  and  because  of 
that,  she  quickly  resolved  to  seek  and  question  him. 

Without  reasoning  in  any  degree  upon  the  probability 
of  his  being  there,  she  turned  her  footsteps  toward  the 
ruined  arbor,  and  when  he  heard  her  footsteps  he  was 
startled. 

"  My  God !"  he  broke  out  passionately.  "  Have  I,  then, 
betrayed  myself?" 

"  To  no  one,  I  think,  but  me,"  answered  Aldeane,  qui 
etly.  "  But  I  was  attracted  by  your  gloomy  abstraction, 


184:  ALDEANE. 

long  ago,  to  speculate  upon  your  past,  and  of  that  I  am 
certain  you  are  not  so  ignorant  as  you  would  have  us  im 
agine,  and  that  this  place  is  connected  with  it.  Mr.  Ray 
mond,"  she  continued,  earnestly,  "  I  have  no  wish  to  pry 
into  your  affairs,  or  to  learn  any  secret  that  may  be  in 
your  keeping,  but  I  entreat  you  to  think  whether  that 
secret  is  a  harmless  one." 

"  To  whom  ?"  he  asked,  raising  his  keen  eyes  to  hers, 
and  as  suddenly  dropping  them. 

"  To  Leonore,"  she  answered,  readily. 

He  arose  and  paced  the  arbor  hurriedly.  "  Upon  my 
soul,  I  think  it  harmless  to  her.  She  will  never  know — " 
he  cried  at  length.  "  Good  God  !  Aldeane,  if  you  knew 
my  tale "  He  broke  off  suddenly,  and  looked  at  her. 

Could  she  ever  forget  the  expression  upon  his  face  that 
day  ?  A  whole  childhood  of  misery  leapt  into  his  face, 
and  a  long  youth  of  brooding  revenge.  Aldeane  Guth- 
rie  saw  it,  and  shrank  from  it,  and  scarce  knowing  what 
she  did,  implored  him  to  "  pause  ere  it  was  too  late !" 

He  stopped  before  her,  suddenly.  "  Aldeane,"  he  said, 
"  no  harm  can  come  to  Leonore,  no  harm  to  any  one,  I 
think,"  and  then  he  laughed  softly  to  himself,  while  she 
looked  entreatingly  at  him.  "  But  I  have  not  treasured 
my  revenge  for  years  to  forego  it  now.  It  will  not  fall  on 
Leonore ;  she  is  dearer  than  my  life  to  me." 

"  Whom  then  ?  Upon  whom  will  it  fall ':"  asked 
Aldeane,  not  in  curiosity,  but  in  terrible  fear. 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  looked  around  him.  "  Listen, 
Aldeane,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  upon  your  enemy  as 
well  as  mine." 

Instinctively  her  lips  formed  the  words,  "  Richard 
Blake." 

He  nodded,  and  resumed  his  pacing  of  the  arbor.  The 
drooping  tendrils  of  the  vine  waved  around  him  as  he 
walked ;  and  as  their  fiery  blossoms  touched  him,  AHeane 
could  not  divest  herself  of  the  idea  that  they  were  ser- 


ALDEANE.  185 

pents  coiling  around  him.  So  strong  was  the  fancy  upon 
her,  that  she  begged  him  to  be  seated. 

"  Aldeane,"  he  said,  suddenly,  not  heeding  for  a  mo 
ment  her  request,  "  years  ago,  when  I  saw  you,  I  thought 
I  would  tell  you  my  history.  I  suspected  then  that  there 
were  reasons  why  you  should  know  it,  and  I  suspect  them 
more  than  ever  now.  In  a  few  days  I  will  give  you  a 
package,  to  be  opened  after  my  marriage — not  till  after 
my  marriage."  He  gave  her  no  opportunity  to  accept 
or  refuse  this  trust,  not  even  to  utter  an  exclamation  of 
surprise,  but  instantly  left  her,  a  prey  to  the  most  intense 
surprise,  and  the  most  poignant  fears. 

An  hour  passed,  she  knew  not  how,  and  then  she  was 
laughingly  drawn  from  her  retreat  by  Leonore  and  her 
lover,  both  of  whom  declared  they  had  been  search 
ing  for  her  everywhere,  for  they  were  to  take  tea, 
and  go  home  immediately.  As  Aldeane  followed  them 
to  the  house,  she  wondered  vaguely  whether  all  that 
passed  was  not  a  dream,  for  from  the  time'he  left  her  in 
the  arbor,  until  they  reached  Arendell  House,  not  a 
shadow  crossed  Raymond's  face,  not  a  look  of  signifi 
cance  beamed  from  his  eyes ;  he  was  as  careless  and  gay 
as  if  no  trouble  ever  had  crossed  his  path,  as  if  no  gleam 
of  vengeance  lived  in  his  soul,  as  if  indeed  he  had  not 
even  the  most  trivial  wrong  to  avenge. 

But  Aldeane  was  not  the  less  fearful  of  him  for  that ; 
she  felt  as  if  she  must  warn  some  one  of  him ;  yet  of 
what?  or,  to  whom  could  she  speak?  And  with  these 
distracting  thoughts  she  one  evening  found  a  sealed 
packet  upon  her  table,  and  laid  it  safely  away,  shudder 
ing  as  she  thought  it  contained  a  secret,  which  her  honor 
forbade  her  to  possess  herself  of,  until,  if  it  threatened  evil 
to  her  darling,  it  would  be  too  late  to  avert  it.  Yet  she 
put  it  away,  feeling  herself  powerless,  and  striving  to 
hope,  yet  trembling  ever  with  undefined  alarms,  she 
awaited  the  marriage  day. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE    VOICE    IN   THE    STOEM. 

THE  day  before  that  appointed  for  the  wedding  was 
singularly  calm  and  beautiful,  and  as  the  evening  drew 
near,  became  exceedingly  close  and  oppressive,  so  that 
one  said  to  the  other,  that  there  was  thunder  in  the  air, 
and  pointed  almost  with  a  sense  of  relief  to  the  low 
hanging  clouds,  expressing  hopes  that  they  would  open, 
and  refresh  the  earth. 

How  very  still  it  grew  as  the  evening  passed  on,  and 
every  sound  fell  upon  the  air  with  startling  distinctness. 
Colonel  Arendell,  Leonore,  and  Aldeane,  were  upon  the 
porch,  enjoying,  with  a  certain  admixture  of  awe — which 
is  common  enough  to  all  before  this  spectacle  of  the 
elements  kept  at  bay,  the  quiet  and  serenity  which  pre 
vailed,  and  noticing  with  amusement  the  antics  of  a 
group  of  little  negroes  who  were  disporting  themselves 
in  the  upper  terrace  of  the  garden,  and  most  of  whom 
were  clustered  around  Hercules — a  particularly  small 
one — who  was  attempting  to  climb  a  tree  which  stood  in 
the  center  of  the  grass-plat. 

After  watching  them  for  some  time,  and  when  the 
little  darky  had  climbed  like  a  squirrel  into  the  topmost 
boughs  of  the  tree,  the  colonel  demanded  suddenly, 
"  What  are  you  doing  there  ?" 

The  boy  dropped  from  the  tree,  as  much  like  a  dead 
squirrel,  as  he  had  ascended  like  a  live  one,  and  explained 
apologetically,  "  It's  done  been  dry  wcder,  mass'r,  a  long 


ALDEANE.  187 

time,  an'  dey  say  dat  de  snake'll  make  it  rain.  I'm  'gwine 
to  try  it  any  way." 

"  There  will  be  no  need  of  the  snake's  aid,  I  think  !" 
said  Colonel  Arendell,  laughing.  "  We  shall  surely  have 
a  storm  to  night ;  this  perfect  calm  is  a  true  index  of  the 
tempest  about  to  follow.  Look  at  those  Qlpuds  moving 
so  rapidly ;  besides  the  wind  is  rising  !"j| 

"  Oh,  pa !"  exclaimed  Leonore  in  a  frightened  voice. 
"  Oh,  pa,  do  you  think  George  will  reach  home  before 
the  storm  comes  on?" 

"He  may.  But  let  me  see,  the  roads  are  long  and 
rough.  I  do  not  think  he  can.  But  you  need  not  be 
frightened,  he  will  most  likely  stay  at  Golding's  to-night, 
and  come  early  in  the  morning  to  claim  his  bride.  I,  for 
one,  shall  not  expect  him  to-night." 

Leonore  looked  gloomily  at  the  clouds,  which  were  fast 
rising  thicker  and  blacker.  Distant  thunder  too  was  soon 
heard  muttering  in  defiant  tones,  and  as  the  night 
gathered  in,  the  whole  sky  became  overcast.  The  stars 
withdrew  themselves,  and  the  gloom  at  intervals  was 
dispelled  by  quick  flashes  of  lightning,  and  then  became 
more  intense  than  before.  They  entered  the  house,  but 
Leonore  walked  to  the  window,  and  tremblingly  con 
templated  the  scene  without. 

It  soon  became  indeed  terrific.  The  winds  rushed 
angrily  by,  shaking  the  tall  trees  to  their  very  roots,  and 
lashing  the  river  to  a  sheet  of  foam,  which  gleamed  white 
and  angrily  through  the  surrounding  darkness.  Large 
drops  of  rain  began  to  fall,  and  the  lightning  flashes  each 
moment  lighted  up  the  arch  of  sable  that  overhung  the 
earth.  Affrighted  she  thought  of  Raymond  riding  alone 
in  the  thick  woods,  through  the  darkness  and  rising 
tempest. 

Colonel  and  Mrs.  Arendell  felt  no  fears  for  his  safety. 
They  were  confident  that  he  had  found  a  lodging  for  the 
night.  But  Leonore  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 


188  ALDEANE. 

and  crouching  down  by  the  window,  wept  like  a  fright 
ened  child,  and  trembled  violently  at  every  vivid  flash 
of  lightning,  or  loud  peal  of  thunder.  The  rain  fell  in 
torrents  ;  and  although  all  had  retired  in  alarm  from  the 
windows,  they  could  plainly  hear  the  river  rising  rapidly, 
and  ever  and  anon  a  loud  crash  proclaimed  the  fall  of 
Home  mighty  denizen  of  the  forest. 

The  negroes  in  affright  had  gathered  in  t-he  hall  and 
around  the  door.  Aunt  Samira  was  there,  moving 
noiselessly  about  in  her  usual  fashion. 

"  Be  still,  dere's  nothin'  to  be  'fraid  on !"  she  exclaimed 
to  a  little  fellow  who  was  crying  lustily.  "  Dis  hoxise'll 
be  safe  enough  I  reckon,  as  long  as  any  of  us  want  to 
stay  here." 

"  Aunt  Samiry,"  said  his  mother,  interfering  in  his  be 
half,  "  I  guess  you  think  'kase  you're  'gwine  off  to  Can- 
ady,  that  you  can  crow  ober  de  rest  ob  us.  I  hope  you'll 
freeze  cl'ar  through ;  we  hain't  got  no  use  for  ye  here. 
But  may  be  ye'll  not  get  to  go  after  all." 

"  Hush !"  commanded  Colonel  Arendell,  authoritatively. 
"  Be  silent,  or  go  to  the  kitchen." 

Leonore  moaningly  repeated  the  words,  "  Perhaps  we'll 
not  get  to  go  after  all !"  covering  her  face  with  her  hands, 
and  rocking  forward  and  back  in  strange,  unconquerable 
terror. 

A  momentary  cessation  of  the  storm  was  followed  by 
a  terribly  vivid  flash  of  lightning,  and  a  startling  peal  of 
thunder.  A  man's  footstep  was  heard  at  that  moment 
quickly  and  heavily  crossing  the  piazza. 

"It  is  George!"  cried  Leonore,  rushing  to  the  door, 
which  had  been  quickly  thrown  open,  and  casting  herself 
into  the  arms  of  the  new-comer. 

"  It  is  Blake,  Leonore !"  said  her  father,  taking  her 
away.  "  For  Heaven's  sake,  Richard,  what  brings  you 
here  to-night  ?" 

The  man  still  stood  at  the  door — which  some  one  had 


ALDEANE.  189 

closed — with  his  hand  upon  the  knob,  as  if  ready  for 
flight.  His  face  was  ashy  pale  ;  his  large  black  eyes  were 
staring  wild  with  fright ;  his  hair  and  clothes  were  drip 
ping  with  water ;  and  his  whole  appearance  indicated  the 
extreme  of  mental  excitement. 

"  Good  God,  Richard !  what  brought  you  here  to 
night  ?"  repeated  the  colonel. 

"  The  river  has  swept  away  the  bridge,  Colonel  Aren- 
dell !"  he  replied,  in  terrified  accents.  "  It  has  not  done 
so  in  twenty  years  before.  Do  you  not  remember  'twas  on 

the  very  night  that  Lucinda  and  I  returned  from  R , 

where  we  had  been  to  advertise  Junius?  Colonel  Aren- 
dell,  I  heard  his  voice  in  the  storm  to-night,  crying, 
'  Help,  mother,  help  me !'  in  just  the  same  tones  as  he  did 
that  morning  I  whipped  him  so.  Oh,  my  God !  my  God  ! 
I  am  certain  that  it  was  his  voice.  It  came  to  me  in  a 
lull  of  the  tempest,  as  if  from  a  great  distance." 

"  It  was  his  spirit ;  de  boy  is  dead !"  cried  Aunt  Samira, 
throwing  herself  upon  the  floor,  with  tears  and  lamenta 
tions.  "  De  boy  is  dead !" 

Mr.  Blake  turned  whiter  than  before,  while  Aldeane, 
terrified  beyond  measure,  inquired : — 

"  From  what  direction  did  the  voice  come,  Mr.  Blake  ? 
Quick !  tell  me." 

"  It  was  from  this.  I  came  down  to  see  if  any  of  you 
had  heard  it.  I  heard  it,  shrill  and  clear,  though  it  appar 
ently  came  from  a  great  distance.  It  was  twice  repeated; 
the  last  tune  very  faintly.  Doubtless  I  should  not  have 
heard  it  had  not  my  senses  been  rendered  acute  by  the 
first  thrilling  cry." 

"  'Twas  his  spirit  in  de  storm !"  again  shrieked  Aunt 
Samira,  rocking  wildly  to  and  fro. 

Leonore  had  ceased  to  weep ;  and,  lifting  up  her  pale 
face,  gazed  wonderingly  upon  the  strange  scene  before 
her.  Aldeane,  with  a  dark  foreboding  almost  amounting 
to  certainty,  threw  her  arms  around  her,  and  drew  her  to 


190  ALDEANE. 

her  bosom,  as  if  to  shield  her  from  some  impending 
calamity. 

Colonel  Arendell  had  turned  deadly  pale  at  Mr.  Blake's 
announcement,  and  stood  as  if  petrified  with  astonish 
ment  and  terror.  At  last  he  said,  slowly: — 

"You  were  thinking  of  the  occurrence  of  which  you 
spoke.  This  storm  recalled  it.  Your  mind  Avas  excited. 
You  thought  you  heard  those  words." 

"  I  am  sure  that  I  heard  them.  My  mind  was  wholly 
engaged  in  trying  to  quiet  my  little  sister,  who  was  much 
frightened.  When  I  heard  that  voice,  I  recognized  it  im 
mediately.  I  heard  it  twice,  distinctly." 

"Whose  voice  did  you  say  it  was?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Arendell,  alarmed  at  the  blanched  faces  of  the  colonel 
and  Mr.  Blake,  and  the  violent  crying  of  Samira. 

"  He  fancies  it  was  that  of  Sandra's  son,  Junius,  who 
ran  away  from  me  nearly  twenty  years  ago,"  explained 
Colonel  Arendell.  Then  turning  to  Mr.  Blake,  he  said, 
somewhat  hesitatingly,  "You  had  been  drinking  too 
freely,  perhaps,  sir?" 

"  No,  no !"  replied  Mr.  Blake,  shaking  his  head,  and  look 
ing  earnestly  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  startled  group. 

The  negroes,  with  terrified  looks,  had  gathered  around 
Aunt  Samira,  muttering,  "  It  was  his  ghost !  De  boy  is 
dead !"  and  sundry  other  exclamations  of  terror. 

Mr.  Blake  opened  the  door  to  go.  A  toi*rent  of  wind 
and  rain  swept  in ;  a  bright  flash  of  lightning  for  a  mo 
ment  dispelled  the  darkness,  and  in  another  it  was  more 
impenetrable  than  before ;  then  the  door  blew  to  with  a 
force  that  shook  the  room. 

"  You  will  not  venture  out  again  to-night,"  said  Mrs. 

O  O         ' 

Arendell,  "  stay  with  us.  The  trees  are  falling  on  every 
side.  You  would  be  killed  before  you  could  reach  home." 
Mr.  Blake  seated  himself,  gazing  vacantly  around  the 
room  as  if  bewildered.  "  Where  is  Mr.  Raymond  ?"  he 
inquired  at  last. 


ALDEANE.  191 

"  He  went  to  R.  two  days  ago.  He  was  expected 
home  to-day ;  but  the  storm  has  detained  him,"  replied 
Mrs.  Arendell. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Blake  !"  exclaimed  Leonore ;  "  do  you  think 
it  is  possible  that  George  would  venture  through  the 
woods  in  such  a  storm  ?  Don't  you  think  he  would  find 
shelter  somewhere  ?" 

"  Try  to  comfort  her,"  said  Mrs.  Arendell,  in  a  low  voice. 

But  he  seemed  in  no  mood  to  do  so,  for  he  said  slowly  :-— 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  You  are  crazy  !"  said  Colonel  Arendell,  impatiently. 
"  That  voice  has  taken  away  your  senses.  Of  course, 
Kaymond  wouldn't  be  so  wild  and  reckless  as  to  attempt 
to  reach  here  such  a  night  as  this.  That  cry,  if  it  was 
not  a  deception  of  your  imagination,  must  have  emanated 
from  some  child  caught  in  the  storm.  We  do  not  believe 
in  spirits,  besides  Samira's  child  is  a  man  now,  and  would 
speak  like  one." 

"  'Twas  his  ghost !"  murmured  Aunt  Roxy  ;  "  I  'spect 
'tis  at  Grassmere  now.  Miss  Alice  comes  dere,  why 
shouldn't  he  ?" 

Colonel  Arendell  seemed  greatly  excited ;  and  Mr. 
Blake  grew  paler,  and  more  rigidly  silent  each  moment. 

"  I  can  not  account  for  it,"  he  said  at  length,  huskily. 
"  But  I  am  positive  that  I  heard  that  child's  voice,  per 
fectly  enunciating  the  words  I  have  repeated." 

"  Leonore,  this  is  exciting  you  !  Come  up-stairs  with 
me,"  whispered  Aldeane.  Without  a  word  the  two  passed 
out;  the  one  calm,  though  filled  with  terrible  forebod 
ings  ;  the  other  trembling  with  excitement,  bewilderment, 
and  fear. 

"  You  must  sleep  with  me  to-night !  I  shall  die  if  you 
leave  me  alone  !"  said  Leonore,  clinging  to  Aldeane. 

"  I  will  not  leave  you,  dearest,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 
"  Do  not  tremble  so,  the  storm  rages  less  furiously  than 
before." 


192  ALDEANE. 

She  walked  to  the  window,  and  looked  out.  All  was 
wrapped  in  impenetrable  darkness.  She  could  see  noth 
ing,  but  she  heard  the  wind  howl  higher  and  higher,  then 
die  almost  away,  only  to  begin  again  with  redoubled  fury. 
The  rain  was  falling  in  torrents,  the  drops  were  com 
mingled,  forming  a  sheet  of  water.  A  lightning  flash 
revealed  the  river,  rolling  furiously  on  at  a  few  feet 
below  the  house.  It  was  bearing  on  its  bosom,  trees 
and  earth,  and  besides  these  debris  of  the  land  and  forests, 
others  more  terrible  to  look  upon ;  planks  and  beams, 
telling  of  homes  destroyed  by  the  ruthless  powers  of  the 
water  and  air.  It  was  indeed  a  terrific  scene.  The  bridge 
was  swept  away,  and  a  large  pine-tree,  which  for  years 
had  stood  near  it,  had  fallen  across  the  stream,  and 
slightly  turned  it  from  its  course.  As  Aldeane  stood 
there,  she  was  reminded  of  the  magnificent  lines  of 
Goethe,  and  unconsciously  repeated  them. 

"  The  night  with  mist  is  thick  and  black ; 
Hark,  how  the  forests  roar  and  crack  I 
The  hooting  owls  affrighted  fly. 
Shivered  fall  the  columns  tall 
Of  the  palaces  of  pine — 
See  the  uniting  boughs  entwine, 
The  mighty  trunks  that  bend  and  groan, 
The  hard  roots  grating  on  the  stone  1 
Mingling  confusedly  and  madly,  all 
Over  each  other  are  heaped  in  the  fall, 
And  around  the  crags,  so  wet  and  foul, 
The  winds  in  fury  hiss  and  howl  1" 

Then  she  thought  of  Raymond.  Could  it  be  possible 
that  it  was  his  voice  Blake  had  heard  in  the  storm ;  and 
if  so,  could  it  be — but  no,  she  would  not  think  it.  Her 
horrible  suspicion  could  not  be  true,  and  she  again  looked 
forth  into  the  storm,  pray  ing  that  he  was  as  safe  from  harm 
as  they,  wildly  telling  herself,  that  Leonore's  lover  must 
be  upright  and  pure,  yet  thinking,  thinking,  thinking  in 


ALDEANE.  193 

spite  of  herself,  of  what  Raymond  had  said  of  Blake, 
and  of  the  terror  he  had  shown,  what  terror  and  remorse 
at  the  fancied  sound  of  a  voice  he  had  heard  as  a  boy's 
more  than  twenty  years  before. 

She  formed  no  plans  then — she  could  not ;  she  thought 
only  of  Raymond's  safety,  and  dimly  also  that  she,  upon 
the  next  morning  would  urge  Colonel  Arendell  to  learn 
the  history  of  his  proposed  son-in-law,  ere  he  yielded  his 
precious  daughter  to  his  arms — that  daiighter  so  pure,  so 
artless  and  lovely. 

Thinking  thus,  Aldeane  turned  to  look  at  her, — turned 
from  the  scene  of  destruction  withont,  to  behold  one 
within,  whose  spiritual  calm  and  loveliness  presented  a 
strange  contrast,  and  at  once  calmed  her  perturbed  mind 
and  surcharged  heart.  Half  disrobed,  Leonore  had  cast 
herself  down  at  the  side  of  the  bed ;  her  long  dark  curls 
fell  like  a  curtain  around  her;  her^face  was  buried  in  the 
snowy  counterpane;  her  hands  were  clasped  above  her 
brow ;  and  her  whole  form  was  trembling  with  the 
violence  of  her  emotion.  She  was  praying  earnestly. 
Wrestling  in  her  feebleness  with  the  mighty  God  that 
rules  the  tempest,  arousing  and  quieting  it  at  will. 

Long-  she  prayed.  Occasionally  in  her  earnestness 
partial  sentences  would  fall  aloud  from  her  lips.  Still 
the  storm  continued;  when  she  arose  from  her  knees 
with  a  tranquil  expression  upon  her  beautiful  face. 

"  Aldeane,"  she  said,  "  I  know  that  George  has  been 
in  this  storm.  I  have  been  praying  to  God  to  preserve 
him.  Perhaps  I  have  not  been  too  late." 

"  God  grant  that  you  have  not,"  she  i-eplied,  gazing 
upon  her  very  sorrowfully. 

Leonore  seemed  comforted,  and  when  a  few  minutes 
later,  she  reclined  in  Aldeane's  arms,  she  trembled  less 
violently,  although  her  heart  beat  quick  and  strong. 

"Aldeane,"  she  whispered,  "to-morrow  I  shall  see 
him,  and  he  will  laugh  at  my  fears.  You  know,  Allic, 
9 


194  AIDE AN E. 

if  the  voice  that  Mr.  Blake  heard  had  been  an  omen 
of  evil  to  him  and  me,  I  should  have  heard  it.  Besides, 
he  said  it  was  a  boy's  voice,  and  George's  is  so  strong 
and  manly." 

"  It  may  be  that  Mr.  Blake  imagined  that  he  heard 
the  voice,  Leonore.'  He  spoke  as  if  he  had  treated  the 
boy  badly  at  some  time.  Perhaps  his  conscience,  aroused 
by  this  terrible  storm,  spoke  in  tones  almost  human  to 
his  cowardly  soul.'f 

"  Perhaps  so,  but  the  tale  to  me  was  horrible.  Oh, 
how  dreadfully  he  looked*1!"  and  Leonore  shuddered. 

"  Yes,"  replied^ldeane,  sickening  with  1jie  thoughts 
that  arose  within  her.  "  Oh,  that  the  nrorning  would 
come  !"  was  her  soul's  mute  c^ry. 

The  clock  slowly  struck  twelve.  "  1  think  the  storm 
is  abating,"  said  Aldeane,  shortly  afterward. 

Her  supposition  was  correct.  The  wind  howled  less 
wildly,  and  the  muttering  thunder  seemed  at  a  great 
distance;  the  lightning  too  was  less  vivid,  and  soon 
ceased  altogether  to  appear.  The  rain  still  fell  heavily, 
and  the  rushing  of  the  river  was  plainly  heard. 

"The  storm  is  indeed  passing,"  murmured  Leonore, 
wearily.  "  Now  I  may  rest  a  little.  Surely  George  was 
not  in  it." 

"  Yes  ;  sleep,  darling,  if  you  can,"  returned  Aldeane,  as 
cheerfully  as  she  could  speak.  "  You  will  have  enough 
to  pass  through  to-morrow,  you  know." 

"Yes,  if  the  company  will  be  able  to  come,"  said 
Leonoi*e,  with  a  faint  smile  and  blush. 

"  God  grant  that  the  bridegroom  may  come,"  thought 
Aldeane.  But  she  answered  not,  but  lay  listening  to 
the  wind  as  it  fled  away  to  its  home  in  the  caverns  of 
the  earth,  until  all  was  still,  save  the  pattering  of  the 
rain-drops,  which  now  came  slowly,  the  rushing  of  the 
riyer,  and  at  last  the  quiet  breathings  that  told  that 
Leonore  slept. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

WHAT   THE    WEDDING   MOKNTXG    BROUGHT. 

THROUGH  the  long  weary  night  Aldeane  slept  not,  but 
clasping  Leonore  in  her  arms,  listened  to  the  quieting  of 
the  tempest,  and  thought,  anxiously,  fearfully,  of  Ray 
mond,  longing  for  the  morning.  At  last  it  came,  clear 
and  beautiful.  Putting  aside  the  white  arms  clinging  so 
closely  around  her,  she  arose  and  approached  the  window. 
A  scene  of  ruin  and  devastation  met  her  view.  Trees 
had  been  blown  up  by  the  roots;  in  many  places  the 
fences  were  all  swept  away,  and  the  corn  and  cotton 
laid  low.  The  river  was  full  of  the  debris  of  bridges 
and  embankments,  which  it  was  hurrying  wildly  on,  or 
tossing  upon  its  miry  banks. 

Quickly  dressing,  she  hurried  down  to  the  piazza  at  the 
front  of  the  house. 

Every  thing  there  was  in  a  similar  condition.  The 
windows  of  the  kitchens  and  some  of  the  negro  cabins, 
had  been  blown  out,  and  lay  shattered  upon  the  ground ; 
the  carefully-tended  garden,  with  its  beautiful  flowers  and 
trees,  appeared  a  waste  of  fallen  shrubs  and  mangled 
trellisses.  Every  thing  seemed  ruined.  A  single  night 
had  despoiled  all  the  beauty  it  had  taken  years  to  bring  to 
perfection. 

Colonel  Arendell  soon  joined  her.  He  looked  very 
pale  and  haggard,  as  if  he  had  passed  a  sleepless  night. 

"You  are  up  early,  to  mourn  over  this  desolation  I 
see,"  he  said  with  a  sigh. 


196  ALDEANE. 

"  Yes  ;"  she  answered  musingly  ;  "  but  even  this  deso 
lation  of  the  land  is  nothing  to  that  of  the  heart." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Aldeane  ?"  he  asked,  turning 
suddenly  toward  her. 

"  Have  you  turned  croaker  too  ?  I  thought  my  own 
thoughts  haft  tormented  me  enough,  false  prophets  that 
they  are." 

"  I  meant  nothing  by  my  words,  sir !"  she  replied, 
astonished  by  the  vehemence  of  his  words  and  manner. 
"  You  must  pardon  me,  if  I  aroused  unpleasant  thoughts 
or  recollections." 

"  Aldeane,  my  child,"  he  answered  sadly,  tenderly 
pressing  her  hands  in  his  own,  "  I  have  terrible  thoughts 
sometimes.  The  boy  that  you  heard  Blake  speak  of  last 
night,  swore  vengeance  upon  us  all,  for  wrongs  which 
I  could  not  avert.  God  knows  my  slavery  then  was 
worse  than  his  own.  Oh,  the  iron — the  adamantine 
shackles  that  I  wore,  and  yet  seemed  to  the  world  a  free 
man.  He  burst  his  bonds.  Death  alone  could  sever 
mine.  They  are  not  sevei-ed  now,  that  boy  is  one  link  of 
the  horrid  chain.  True,  I  have  never  heard  of  him  since 
he  left  us.  I  have  sometimes  thought  he  was  dead,  but 
Blake  has  always  said  that  he  would  come  back,  and 
now  believes  that  he  is  near  us,  and  thus  accounts  for  the 
voice,  that  he  still  persists  he  heard  last  night,  and  which 
haunts  him  yet.  I  confess,  too,  that  it  has  alarmed  me 
considerably.  One's  nerves  are  easily  shaken  during 
such  a  storm  as  we  had  last  night." 

"  It  was  indeed  terrible !"  ejaculated  Aldeane,  walking 
to  the  end  of  the  porch,  and  shading  her  eyes  with  her 
hand.  "  Who  are  those  coming  up  from  the  river,  Colonel 
Arendell  ?" 

He  went  to  her  side,  both  turned  pale,  and  looked, 
from  the  group  of  men  bearing  a  heavy  \veight  between 
them,  to  each  other  apprehensively. 

"  It  is  a  dead  body — a  man,  I  believe,  Aldeane !"  Avhis- 


•  ALDEANE.  197 

pered  the  colonel,  his  lips  white  with  dread.  "  My  God ! 
who  can  it  be  ?" 

The  men  were  now  at  the  gate,  and  unclosing  it 
entered  slowly  and  silently.  Colonel  Arendell  walked 
down  to  meet  them. 

One  of  the  men,  stepping  forward,  pulled  off  his  hat, 
and  said : — 

"  A  gentleman,  sir,  was  found  drowned  in  the  river 
just  above  here,  and  as  this  was  the  nearest  place  we 
brought  him  here.  He  is  dreadfully  beaten  and  bruised, 
and  looks  as  if  he  had  been  washed  from  a  great  distance. 
Would  you  like  to  look  at  him,  sir  ?" 

"  Presently.  Who  is  it  ?"  replied  the  colonel,  turning 
toward  the  house,  with  a  strange  feeling  of  oppression  and 
loathing,  dreading  to  look  toward  the  corpse. 

The  men  again  raised  the  burden,  which  they  had 
placed  upon  the  ground, .  and  slowly  approached  the 
house.  Mr.  Blake  and  Mrs.  Arendell  had  joined  Aldeane 
upon  the  piazza  ;  they  were  all  evidently  much  agitated 
by  the  occurrence.  Mr.  Blake  went  down  the  steps  and 
asked  in  a  husky  voice  : — 

"  Do  any  of  you  know  who  it  is  ?" 

"  He  is  a  stranger  to  all  of  us,  sir,"  said  one.  "  I  think 
I  have  seen  the  man,  but  he  is  so  bruised  as  to  be  almost 
unrecognizable." 

The  men  placed  the  corpse  upon  the  steps.  And  at 
one  glance,  and  with  a  scream  of  anguish,  Aldeane 
beheld  the  fulfillment  of  her  most  horrible  fears. 

George  Raymond  lay  dead  before  her. 

"  It  is  Raymond !  O  God,  it  is  Raymond !"  shrieked 
Mrs.  Arendell;  while  the  colonel,  with  every  feature 
and  motion  expressive  of  the  utmost  horror,  lifted  one 
of  the  arms  dripping  with  water,  then  let  it  fall,  covering 
his  face  with  his  hands,  and  groaning  aloud. 

Though  greatly  shocked,  Mr.  Blake  retained  his  pres 
ence  of  mind. 


198  ALDEANE, 

"  Carry  the  body  into  the  parlor,"  he  said  to  the  men. 
"  Miss  Leonore  must  not  see  it." 

"  It  is  the  gentleman  to  whom  she  was  to  have  been 
married  to-day,"  whispered  one. 

With  blanched  faces  at  the  thought  of  the  widowed 
maiden  they  lifted  the  corpse  in  their  arms,  carried  it 
into  the  parlor,  and  laid  it  upon  the  sofa.  All  the 
negroes,  with  horror  stamped  upon  each  countenance,  had 
by  this  time  gathered  around.  Shrieks  and  lamentations 
began  to  arise,  when,  with  her  long  curls  flowing  wildly 
back  from  her  face,  which  rivaled  her  snowy  wrapper  in 
whiteness,  Leonore  rushed  through  the  throng,  and  with 
a  wild  scream  of  despair,  threw  herself  upon  the  muti 
lated  body  of  Raymond. 

"  George,  my  darling,  my  husband  !"  she  cried  frantic 
ally,  casting  back  the  black  hair,  wringing  with  moisture, 
from  his  clammy  brow,  and  gazing  distractedly  upon  him. 
His  face  was  almost  purple ;  his  long  beard,  mustache, 
and  hair  were  matted  closely  together ;  his  eyes  were 
closed,  and  his  jaw  fallen.  He  had  evidently  struggled 
violently  to  the  last,  and  had  apparently  been  dead  some 
time.  His  clothes  were  much  torn,  and  covered  with 
mud,  as  though  he  had  been  swept  from  a  great  distance, 
and  tossed  violently  from  the  current  to  the  banks,  then 
back  again.  Leonore  saw  all  this  at  a  glance,  and  with 
another  shriek,  wilder  far  than  the  first,  threw  herself 
upon  the  body  of  her  lover  in  a  deathlike  swoon. 

Mr.  Blake  lifted  her  in  his  ai-ms,  and  carried  her 
through  the  group  of  lamenting  negroes  into  the  sitting- 
room.  With  the  colonel  and  Mrs.  Arendell,  Aldeane 
still  stood  beside  the  corpse,  wholly  speechless  with 
horror  and  grief.  The  right  arm  of  the  corpse  fell  heavily 
down  from  its  side,  the  breast  of  his  coat  fell  back,  and 
from  the  pocket  dropped  a  little  book  which  fell  open 
upon  the  floor. 

Colonel   Arendell  stooped,  and  picked  it  up.     It  had 


ALDEANE.  199 

opened  at '  the  last  entry  made  by  the  deceased.  He 
glanced  over  it,  his  face  congealing  with  horror  as  he 
comprehended  the  meaning  of  the  sentences.  It  was  but 
a  few  short  lines,  but  in  frenzied  tones  he  cried : — 

"  My  God,  it  is  Junius !  "What !  Wed  my  child ! 
Great  Heaven,  can  this  be  true  !" 

Mr.  Blake,  pale  with  excitement,  sprang  toward  him, 
and  snatching  the  book  from  his  nerveless  hand,  read  the 
paragraph  in  a  loud  and  horrified  voice  : — 

"  The  revenge  that  my  soul  for  years  has  craved  is  at 
hand  !  Ah,  John  Arendell !  Woe !  woe !  to  thee  !  for 
in  another  day  your  slave  Junius  shall  wed  your 
daughter,  and  crush  your  fondest  hopes.  The  end  is  at 
hand !" 

"  It  is  here !"  cried  the  reader,  pointing  to  the  corpse. 
"  His  influence  and  power  have  ceased  forever !"  he 
thought,  exultingly,  "  I  have  escaped  his  wrath.  Retri- 
btition  will  never  reach  me  !" 

With  a  low  groan  Colonel  Arendell  had  sunk  upon  a 
chair,  as  if  bereft  of  his  senses.  His  wife  knelt  beside 
him,  striving  by  her  tears  .and  entreaties  to  arouse  him 
from  the  stupor  which  seemed  to  have  overwhelmed  him. 

"  Junius,  my  son  !  my  pretty  boy  !"  cried  Aunt  Samira, 
casting  herself  down  by  the  body.  "  It  was  your  voice 
calling  to  me  in  the  storm  last  night.  My  son  !  my  son  !" 

Through  all  the  horror  impressed  upon  him  by  the 
scene  around  him,  Mr.  Blake  felt  a  sort  of  wild  joy  at  the 
death  of  his  enemy.  Approaching  the  corpse,  he  smoothed 
back  the  dripping  hair,  placed  his  hands  over  the  whiskers 
and  mustache,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice :  "  See1,  the  like 
ness  is  perfect !" 

"  William  !"  cried  Colonel  Arendell,  springing  toward 
the  corpse,  but  falling  prostrate  before  it.  His  mind  had 
given  away  before  the  repeated  shocks  given  to  it,  and 
for  some  time  he  lay  wholly  unconscious. 

"  Mass'r  William !  Junius !"  moaned  Samira,  kissinsr 


200  ALDEANE. 

the  cold  lips  of  her  son.  Some  of  the  negroes  bore  her, 
struggling  and  shrieking,  away  to  her  cabin,  and  for  a 
few  moments  Aldeane  was  left  alone  with  all  that  re 
mained  of  the  unfortunate  octoroon. 

She  thought,  as  she  gazed  upon  him,  of  the  suspicions 
that  had  thrust  themselves  upon  her  the  night  before,  and 
which  she  had  vainly  striven  to  drive  from  her  mind. 
They  were  all  confirmed;  she  needed  not  to  read  his 
letter  now ;  the  worst  she  had  suspected  of  the  history 
of  George  Raymond  was  confirmed ;  and  his  history  was 
ended ;  death  had  ended  it  before  his  terrible  vengeance 
could  be  consummated. 

One  of  the  men,  who  had  discovered  the  body,  entered 
the  room,  but  started  back  when  he  saw  a  lady  there. 

"  Stay  a  moment,"  said  Aldeane,  and  with  a  gesture 
of  respect,  the  man  took  a  step  farther  into  the  room. 
"  AVill  you  tell  me  how  you  found  him,  and  where  ?  poor 
fellow  !  poor  fellow.  Will  you  tell  me  all  about  it,"  she 
resumed,  seating  herself  beside  Raymond,  and  quietly  ad- 
j  listing  his  dripping  hair. 

"I  found  him  about  a  mile  up  the  river,  miss.  I  had 
gone  down  to  my  corn-fields  to  see  if  possible  how  much 
harm  the  freshet  had  done.  I  went  down  pretty  close  to 
the  river,  and,  floating  among  logs  and  brushwood,  I  dis 
covered,  to  my  horror,  the  body  of  a  man.  I  could  not 
get  him  out  without  assistance,  so  I  ran  to  a  neighbor's 
to  obtain  it.  Soon  a  number  of  men  were  assembled 
upon  the  banks,  and  the  gentleman  quickly  taken  from 
the  stream.  Then  arose  the  question,  where  he  should  be 
taken  to.  None  of  us  recognized  the  gentleman,  and 
felt  unwilling  to  take  him  to  our  poor  houses,  and  all  co 
incided  in  the  opinion  that  this  was  the  best  place  to 
bring  him.  A  portion  of  us  accordingly  came  with  the 
body  to  this  place,  while  the  rest  went  up  the  river  to 
discover  if  possible  the  place  of  his  death.  They  found  it 
at  Baring's  Branch,  near  the  bend,  where  it  empties  it- 


ALDEANE.  201 

self  into  the  river.  From  the  spurs  upon  his  feet  we 
knew  that  he  had  been  riding,  and  unaware,  or  reckless 
of  the  danger,  had  forded  the  branch.  It  is  a  dreadful 
thing,  miss.  Even  if  he  is  a  negro,  he  looks  like  a  gentle 
man,  and  Arendell  at  that." 

He  looked  at  the  dead  man,  then  wistfully  at  Aldeane 
a  moment.  Then,  as  her  white  lips  murmured,  "  Could 
you  discover  no  more  ?"  he  continued : — 

"  The  party  from  Baring's  Branch  have  just  returned, 
and  report  that  a  horse,  supposed  to  be  his,  was  found 
near  the  ford  of  the  R —  road.  It  had  been  washed  down 
a  short  distance,  and  had  struck  upon  a  raft  of  trees  that 
had  almost  blockaded  the  stream.  The  poor  animal  was 
dreadfully  bruised  and  torn.  No  doubt  it  struggled  for 
its  life  as  hard  as  its  master  did  for  his,  poor  gentleman." 

Some  of  the  negroes  had  gathered  near  the  open  door, 
and  checking  their  cries,  listened  with  horror-struck  faces 
to  the  man's  words.  As  he  ceased,  they  renewed  their 
lamentations  louder  and  wilder  than  before ;  only  one  or 
two  seemed  able  to  restrain  themselves ;  Aunt  Itoxy  was 
one.  Taking  Aldeane  by  the  arm,  she  led  her  up-stairs 
to  her  own  room,  and  gently  closing  the  door,  returned  to 
the  parlor,  to  the  sad  duty  of  preparing  the  corpse  for 
the  grave. 

Frank,  Eddie,  and  Jessie,  had  been  kept  by  the  serv 
ants  away  from  the  parlor,  so  they  had  not  yet  seen  Ray 
mond.  When  they  knew  that  Aldeane  was  in  her  room, 
they  rushed  tumultuously  in.  Hurrying  toward  her,  Jes 
sie  hid  her  face  in  her  lap,  and  sobbed  bitterly ;  Frank 
stopped  before  her,  crying  : — 

"  Is  it  true,  Miss  Aldeane,  that  Mr.  Raymond  was  once 
a  slave  ?  Say,  is  it  true  ?" 

He  was  much  excited ;  his  eyes  were  dilated  with  as 
tonishment  and  eagerness,  and  his  whole  frame  quivered 
with  excitement. 

"Yes,  Frank,"  returned  Aldeane,  very  sorrowfully. 
»* 


202  ALDEANE. 

"  He  was  once  unjustly  held  as  a  slave,  yet  he  was  your 
own  uncle's  child." 

"  What !  my  cousin  a  slave  ?"  he  queried,  turning 
slightly  pale.  "  A  slave !  akin  to  me  ?"  Then,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  ineffable  disgust,  he  said,  "  I  am  glad  he  is 
dead,"  in  a  bitter  altogether  un-childlike  voice — "  a  slave, 
and  marry  my  sister  /" 

He  turned  to  leave  the  room,  but  befoi-e  he  reached  the 
door,  he  stopped,  and  bursting  into  tears,  sobbed  out, 
"  Leonore !  poor  sister  Leonore  !  Miss  Aldeane,  this  will 
kill  her!" 

These  words  seemed  to  arouse  Eddie,  who  had  been 
standing  by  Aldeane's  side,  crying  silently  and  bitterly. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Aldeane,  I  believe  she  is  already  dead !"  he 
cried,  "  she  is  lying  in  her  room,  so  white  and  still." 

Aldeane  had  dreaded  to  witness  the  agonizing  scene 

O  ~ 

which  she  knew  would  ensue  upon  Leonore's  restoration 
to  consciousness,  and  knowing  that  she  was  in  good 
hands,  had  refrained  from  going  to  her.  But  now  she 
feared  that  her  absence  would  be  noticed.  She  arose,  and 
leaving  the  three  weeping  children  together,  passed  into 
Leonore's  room. 

Zettie  and  another  servant,  with  a  physician,  were 
there.  Leonore  had  opened  her  eyes,  and  was  regarding 
them  with  a  vacant  stare. 

"We  have  just  succeeded  in  bringing  her  to  conscious 
ness,"  whispered  the  doctor.  "  I  am  very  glad  you  have 
come.  Mrs.  Arendell  and  Mr.  Blake  are  with  the  colonel. 
The  excitement  through  which  he  has  passed  has  pro 
duced  brain  fever,  and  he  is  very  delirious." 

Aldeane  heard  this  without  much  surprise  or  intei-est 
being  awakened,  her  thoughts  were  too  wholly  en 
grossed  by  Leonore,  who  had  raised  herself  upon  her 
elbow,  and  was  gazing  with  bewildered  countenance 
upon  the  anxious  faces  of  those  around  her. 

"  I  fear  for  her  reason,"  muttered  the  doctor. 


ALDEANE.  203 

Aldoane  approached  her,  and  took  her  hand.  Lconore 
at  that  moment  seemed  to  have  a  slight  recollection  of 
what  had  transpired,  for  clinging  to  her  friend  she  cried 
in  frenzied  accents:  — 

"  Tell  me,  tell  me,  Aldeane,  what  has  happened !  Ah !  is  it 
true  that  George  !  that  George — "  She  gasped  for  breath. 

Aldeane  could  make  110  reply.  The  attendants  turned 
sobbing  away,  and  the  kind-hearted  doctor,  who  had 
known  and  loved  Leonore  from  her  birth — groaned 
slightly. 

Leonore  looked  wildly  from  face  to  face.  "  Ah,  yes  ! 
I  remember  !  I  remember !"  she  shrieked  at  last.  "  Oh,  his 
dear  face  was  bruised,  and  his  lips  mangled  so  !"  And 
with  a  wild  scream  she  fell  back  upon  the  pillows  and 
again  became  unconscious. 

Through  all  the  events  of  the  morning,  Aldeane  had 
remained  calm  and  tearless.  The  fountain  of  her  tears 
seemed  dried  by  the  very  intensity  of  her  horror  and 
grief;  but  now,  when  her  womanly  sympathies  were 
most  strongly  aroused  by  the  sight  of  Leonore's  suiter- 
ings,  tears  burst  vehemently  forth,  streaming  freely  over 
her  pale  cheeks,  and  falling  upon  those  paler  still  over 
which  she  bent. 

A  low  moan  of  deep  anguish,  after  a  long  period, 
heralded  Leonore's  second  return  to  consciousness.  She 
seemed  to  be  perfectly  aware  of  all  that  had  befallen  her, 
for  she  partly  arose  and  cried : — 

"  I  must  see  him  once  more !" 

And  as  they  endeavored  to  restrain  her,  she  struggled 
with  them  feebly,  saying :  "  Let  me  go  to  him !  I  will 
see  him  again  !" 

"  You  shall  soon,  dearest,"  said  Aldeane,  through  her 
tears.  "  But  wait  a  little  while,  you  will  be  stronger 
then." 

Leonore  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  wildly.  Her  eyes 
seemed  burning  and  dry,  but  presently  they  became 


204  ALDEANE. 

humid,  and  with  a  gasping  sob  she  threw  her  arms 
around  Aldeane,  and  laying  her  face  upon  her  bosom 
wept  bitterly. 

The  doctor  seemed  much  relieved  at  this  exhibition  of 
feeling.  "There!  there!"  he  said,  "that  is  better!" 
Then  to  Aldeane.  "  I  can  leave  her  now  with  you,  with 
out  immediate  danger  of  her  fainting  again.  I  will  go 
now  to  Colonel  Arendell.  I  fear  that  he  needs  my  ser 
vices  as  much,  if  not  more  than  his  daughter." 

Leonore  wept  for  a  long  time,  and  Aldeane  endeavored 
in  vain  to  comfort  her :  not  striving  to  i-epress  her  tears, 
but  to  produce  a  less  spasmodic  and  more  quiet  flow. 
An  old  gentleman  entered  the  room.  It  was  the  clergy 
man  who  was  to  have  performed  the  marriage  ceremony. 
Lconore  cried  bitterly  as  she  recognized  him.  He  seemed 
greatly  affected,  and  whispered  to  Aldeane  : — 

"Leave  her  alone  with  me  a  few  minutes.  I  would 
comfort  her  if  possible.  Jesus  hath  balm  for  every 
wound." 

Aldeane  arose,  and  motioning  him  to  her  chair,  then 
beckoning  to  the  servants  to  follow  her,  left  the  room.  . 

In  the  hall  she  met  Mr.  Blake. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  he  said.  "No  one  else 
seems  rational.  Come  into  the  library  a  moment,  if  you 
please." 

She  followed  him  into  the  designated  apartment,  and 
took  a  seat  near  the  window.  Mr.  Blake  remained 
standing,  looking  at  her  doubtfully. 

"  This  is  a  very  sad  thing,  Miss  Aldeane,"  he  said  at 
last  with  a  sigh. 

She  bowed  assent. 

"You  see,"  he  continued,  "that  I  did  hear  his  voice 
last  night,  although  you  all  seemed  increduloiis  at  the 
time.  Still  to  me  it  sounded  like  the  voice  of  a  child." 

"It  was  probably  the  shrill  tone  of  despair  and  the 
distance  that  gave  it  the  well-remembered  sound,"  replied 


ALDEANE.  205 

Aldeanc.  "  You  know  a  slight  resemblance  will  awaken 
remembrances  of  things  fraught  with  cruelty  or  injustice." 

He  colored  deeply,  and  bit  his  lips  nervously.  "  I 
wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  the  funeral,"  he  said,  at 
length.  "  I  am  hesitating  whether  to  have  him  buried  in 
the  grave-yard  of  the  whites,  or  blacks." 

Aldeane  arose,  a  flush  of  indignation  mantling  her  face. 
"  You  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter,  I  believe !" 
she  said,  hastily.  "  Mrs.  Arendell  will  no  doubt  see  that 
due  honor  is  awarded  to  the  remains  of  her  daughter's 
betrothed  husband." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you,  Miss  Guthrie,"  an 
swered  Mr.  Blake,  humbly.  "  You  know  that  my  desire 
is  altogether  on  the  contrary."  Aldeane  started,  impa 
tiently.  "  But  it  seems  that  I  can  never  hope  to  win 
yoxir  regard." 

"  That  is  true,  sir ;  you,  indeed,  never  can !"  replied 
Aldeane,  haughtily.  "  If  this  is  all  you  have  to  say  to 
me,  I  will  go.  Mrs.  Arendell  can,  no  doubt,  be  consulted 
concerning  the  burial  of  Mr.  Raymond." 

Mr.  Blake  sighed  deeply,  twirling  his  hat  in  his  hands 
uneasily.  Aldeane  passed  out,  and  in  the  hall  met  the 
clergyman,  who  had  just  left  Leonore. 

"  How  is  Leonore,  now,  Mr.  Aldery  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Calmer  than  when  you  left  her,  but  still  inconsolable. 
She  screams,  and  appears  ready  to  faint  every  time  poor 
Raymond's  name  is  mentioned.  I  suppose  she  knows 
nothing  of  his. being  of  negro  blood?" 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Aldeane.  "  But  I  suppose  it  is 
all  over  the  country  before  this — such  news  travels  fast." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  heard  it  on  my  way  here.  You  may  im 
agine  how  I  was  shocked.  I  had  been  summoned  to  a 
place  of  joy,  and  found  the  habitation  of  mourning  and 
desolation.  I  stationed  a  servant  at  each  road,  to  inter 
cept  the  wedding  guests,  if  any  should  come.  Several 
have  been  turned  back,  I  believe." 


206  ALDEANE. 

"  You  are  very  thoughtful,  Mr.  Aldery." 

"  Do  you  know  when  the  funeral  will  take  place,  Miss 
Guthrie  ?" 

"To-niorrow,  I  presume.  Meanwhile,  Mr.  Aldery,  I 
hope  you  will  remain  with  us.  We  all  need  comfort." 

"  You  have  borne  up  wonderfully,  Miss  Guthrie,"  re 
plied  the  minister,  looking  at  her  compassionately.  "  You 
are  very  pale,  my  child.  Try  now  to  obtain  a  little  .rest." 

"  I  do  not  need  it  yet ;  how  can  I,  when  others  are  suf 
fering  so  much  more  deeply,  Mr.  Aldery  ?  I  must  go 
now  and  see  to  the  servants.  Mrs.  Arendell  is  still  with 
the  colonel,  I  suppose." 

The  good  minister  turned  away,  with  a  sigh,  and 
Aldeane  proceeded  to  the  kitchen,  hoping  to  find  Aunt 
Roxy  there,  but  it  was  deserted,  save  by  one  little  urchin, 
who  was  rolling  upon  the  floor,  grimacing  horribly,  and 
crying  distractedly. 

"  Hercules,  Hercules !  what  is  the  matter  ?"  exclaimed 
Aldeane,  shaking  him  by  the  arm.  "  For  mercy's  sake, 
child,  tell  me  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  go  for  to  drownd  Mass'r  George.  I 
didn't  go  for  to  drownd  him !"  he  sobbed. 

"  Why  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  What  had  you  to  do 
with  it  ?"  demanded  Aldeane,  greatly  mystified  by  the 
child's  words. 

"  Oh,  I  hung  up  de  snake  in  de  tree  to  make  it  rain  ! 
but  I  only  'spected  it  to  rain  a  leetle,  jest  'nuff  to  make 
de  corn  grow.  I  never  had  no  idee  of  its  comin'  so's  to 
drownd  Mass'r  George  !"  And  he  burst  into  a  fresh  series 
of  screams,  grimaces,  and  contortions. 

"  Why,  Hercules !"  replied  Aldeane,  scarcely,  even  in  her 
distress,  able  to  repress  a  smile  at  his  ludicrous  appear 
ance.  "  The  snake  didn't  make  it  rain.  You  had  noth 
ing  to  do  with  it.  God  sent  the  tempest."  After  some 
time  she  succeeded  in  making  the  child  believe  this ;  then 
she  left  him  and  returned  Leonore's  room. 


ALDEANE.  207 

She  found  her  still  weeping  hysterically.  Her  mother 
was  with  her,  striving  to  impart  consolation,  while  she 
needed  it  almost  as  much  herself.  She  seemed  nearly 
exhausted,  and  Aldeane  for  the  first  time  remembered 
that  they  had  tasted  nothing  for  the  day.  Quickly  leav 
ing  the  room,  she  went  down  into  the  dining-room.  The 
wedding  breakfast,  still  untouched,  was  spread  upon  the 
table.  Placing  a  plate  of  cold  chicken  and  biscuits  upon 
a  salver,  with  a  decanter  of  wine  and  some  glasses,  she 
took  them  up  to  Leonore's  room. 

Mrs.  Arendell  seemed  very  grateful  to  Aldeane  for  this 
thoughtfulness,  and  a  glass  of  the  genial  wine  gave  new 
life  to  Leonore's  flagging  pulse. 

"Aldeane,"  she  said,  entreatingly,  "I  must  see  him 
now  ;  I  can  wait  no  longer." 

Without  a  word,  Aldeane  passed  her  arm  around  her, 
and  supported  her  down  the  stairs.  At  the  parlor  door 
they  paused  for  a  moment. 

"  Can  you  bear  it  ?"  whispered  Aldeane. 

"  I  must  see  him,"  murmured  Leonore,  laying  her  hand 
upon  the  knob  of  the  door. 

They  went  in.  The  room  was  deserted  and  darkened. 
Approaching  the  corpse,  Leonore  drew  down  the  sheet 
that  covered  the  face  of  the  dead,  looked  at  it  with  awful 
calmness  for  a  few  moments,  then  sinking  upon  her  knees 
at  his  side,  remained  for  some  time  in  silent  prayer.  The 
aged  clergyman,  unperceived,  had  entered,  and  regarded 
her  Avith  a  look  of  deep  and  tender  solicitude. 

"  My  daughter,"  he  said,  as  Leonore  arose  from  her 
knees,  and  bent  over  her  dead  lover,  "  my  daughter,  trust 
in  God.  Endeavor  to  become  resigned  to  this  great  in 
fliction,  it  may  be  the  least  of  two  evils  that  have  been 
hanging  over  you." 

Leonore  made  no  reply,  but  drew  the  sheet  farther 
down.  Raymond's  features  had  become  more  composed, 
and  his  face  was  less  livid  than  when  she  had  looked 


208  ALDEANE. 

upon  him  in  the  morning.  They  had  arrayed  him  in  a 
beautiful  suit  he  had  purposed  to  wear  at  his  bridal. 
His  hands  were  folded  upon  his  breast,  and  a  look  of 
deep  calmness  had  settled  over  him.  Traces  of  violent 
passions  were  still  visible  upon  his  face,  but  they  were 
very  dim  and  seemed  almost  merged  into  perfect  se 
renity. 

"  Yes,"  said  Leonore,  slowly,  "  this  may  indeed  be 
the  least  of  two  evils.  I  might  have  forgotten  the  com 
mandment,  '  Make  not  unto  yourself  idols,'  and  with  it 
my  God.  I  can  never  forget  now  the  hand  that-  has 
smitten  me." 

"  Still  God  will  be  merciful  to  you.  Can  you  believe 
that  ?"  asked  the  minister. 

"  Yes,  Jesus  lives,"  she  returned  with  simple  faith,  in 
a  voice  that  revealed  to  her  listeners  that  all  of  comfort, 
or  hope  to  her,  was  in  the  name  of  the  Redeemer. 

She  looked  again  upon  her  lover.  Something  appeared 
to  attract  her  attention.  Bending  down,  she  drew  forth 
from  the  vest  pocket  a  tiny  gold  circlet,  the  wedding 
ring.  She  threw  herself  upon  the  body  with  a  moan  of 
despair.  Mr.  Aldery  raised  her  in  his  arms.  She  placed 
the  ring  upon  her  linger,  kissing  it  and  crying  frantically. 
"  I  am  his  wife  !  I  will  stay  with  him.  Let  me  die  upon 
his  bosom !"  and  she  threw  herself  again  upon  her  lover, 
kissing  his  cold  lips  eagerly,  and  calling  his  name  in 
piercing  tones. 

With  some  difficulty,  Mr.  Aldery  raised  her  up,  and 
bore  her  away ;  while,  unable  longer  to  control  her  feel 
ings,  Aldeane  sank  into  a  chair,  and  cried  aloud  in  her 
anguish. 

The  day  passed  very  drearily.  The  negroes  gathered 
in  groups  in  the  garden  and  cabins,  and  with  awe-stricken 
voices  talked  of  what  had  transpired,  scarcely  able  to 
realize  it. 

Colonel   Arendell  was  delirious   all   day,  and  talked 


ALDEANE.  209 

incoherently,  and  sometimes  so  loudly  and  wildly,  that 
he  was  heard  all  over  the  house,  arousing  even  Leonore, 
as  she  lay  weeping  and  moaning  in  her  chamber,  from  her 
deep  grief,  to  a  vague  feeling  of  terror  as  she  heard  his 
loud  ravings. 

Aunt  Samira  was  in  one  of  the  cabins  almost  insane 
in  her  wild  grief,  calling  upon  her  former  master  to  come 
back,  and  upon  her  dead  son.  The  negroes  listened  with 
horror  to  her  cries,  then  turned  away,  and  left  her  alone 
to  pour  out  her  woe. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  the  funeral  should  take  place 
the  next  day.  It  was  to  be  as  private  as  possible.  Mr. 
Blake  undertook  every  thing  connected' with  the  inter 
ment,  and,  according  to  Mrs.  Arendell's  directions,  all 
was  done  with  propriety  and  elegance.  Leonore  was 
told  when  the  burial  would  take  place,  and  immediately 
signified  her  intention  of  accompanying  the  family,  to 
witness  the  closing  ceremonies  of  respect  paid  to  her 
unfortunate  lover. 

Mrs.  Arendell  arid  Aldeane  begged  her  to  desist  from 
her  purpose,  fearing  that  she  would  not  be  able  to  bear 
the  last  cruel  separation;  but  she  begged  so  earnestly 
and  piteously  to  be  allowed  to  be  present,  that  her  mother 
could  not  deny  her  the  sad  privilege. 

After  a  night  passed  in  tears  and  prayers.  Leonore 
arose,  and  calmly  arraying  herself  in  mourning  garments 
that  had  been  hastily  prepared,  turned  to  Aldeane  and 
said : — 

"  Let  us  go  down  now.  I  would  see  him  once  more, 
before  strangers  come  to  intrude  upon  my  grief." 

Aldeane  silently  took  her  hand,  and  led  her  down  into 
the  parlor.  Frank  and  Eddie  were  leaning  over  Ray 
mond,  who  now  reposed  in  a  handsome  coffin,  placing 
flowers  around  him.  They  were  well  chosen.  The 
mournful  periwinkle  and  violet  were  all  that  they  had 
gathered  to  place  near  him,  whose  life  had  been  so  fiercely 


210  ALDEANE. 

sad,  and  morbidly  sensible  to  gloom  and  melancholy. 
Yet  those  flowers,  like  his  disposition,  possessed  much 
sweetness,  and  though  typical  of  sorrow  and  death,  were 
also  emblematical  of  faithfulness  and  beauty. 

Jessie  stood  near  the  boys,  half  frightened  at  the  sight 
of  death.  In  her  hand  was  clasped  a  single  snowy  wax- 
like  flower.  Leonore  took  it  from  her,  and  placing  it 
over  Raymond's  heart,  whispered:  "Immortality." 

Aldeane  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  as  she  bent  to  kiss 
the  lips  of  her  dead  lover.  She  was  perfectly  calm  and 
tearless.  A  deep  sorrow  seemed  spread  over  her  white 
face,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of  agony  and  gloomy  ten 
derness.  She  seemed  to  have  wept  until  the  crystal 
fountain  was  exhausted,  and  now  calmly  and  despairingly 
awaited  the  end. 

Soon,  people  who  had  come  to  the  funeral — some  from 
mere  curiosity,  others  as  friends  of  the  family,  and  a  few 
from  pure  sorrow — began  to  assemble,  and  congregating 
together,  spoke  in  low  whispers,  wThich  failed  to  arouse 
Leonore  from  the  apathy  into  which  she  had  fallen.  She 
sat  by  the  side  of  Raymond.  One  arm  thrown  across 
him,  the  other  upraised,  the  hand  covering  her  face. 
Mrs.  Arendell  came  in  with  Mr.  Aldery,  and  the  services 
soon  afterward  commenced.  They  were  short  but  im 
pressive;  and  all  the  assemblage  wept,  save  her  whose 
grief  was  deepest.  She  still  retained  the  same  attitude, 
moving  slightly  when  one  after  another  came  to  take  a 
last  look  at  all  that  was  mortal  of  George  Raymond. 

At  last,  Mr.  Blake  and  some  others  approached  to  close 
the  coffin,  preparatory  to  removing  it.  Mr.  Blake  gently 
raised  her  arm,  and,  for  the  first  time  she  uncovered  her 
face,  and  looked  up  inquiringly.  All  were  shocked  at  the 
change  manifest  in  her  countenance.  It  was  of  an  ashen 
hue,  and  deep  lines  of  blue  covered  her  compressed  lips, 
and  lay  around  her  mournful  eyes.  Her  little  hands,  as 
they  lay  upon  her  black  garments,  appeared  emaciated, 


ALDEANE.  211 

and  lax  with  suffering.  All  looked  upon  her  pityingly, 
but  she  regarded  them  not,  but  still  looked  up  at  Mr. 
Blake  inquiringly,  and  with  a  slight  aspect  of  reproach. 

"  We  must  take  him  away,  Miss  Nora,"  he  whispered 
brokenly,  at  length. 

She  remained  a  moment  as  if  stupefied,  then  bent  over 
the"  corpse,  and  laying  her  head  upon  his  bosom,  closed 
her  eyes,  sighing  deeply,  while  her  lips  moved  as  if  in 
prayer.  The  good  clergyman  bent  his  head,  and  offered 
up  an  earnest  and  humble  petition  on  behalf  of  the  suf 
ferer.  The  strength  required  seemed  given  to  her ;  for, 
rising,  she  gazed  upon  the  beloved  face  once  more ;  then 
kissed  his  cold  lips,  and  feebly  motioned  to  them  to  pro 
ceed. 

The  coffin  was  soon  screwed  down,  and  the  men  were 
about  to  take  it  up,  when  Leonore  stepped  forward  and 
softly  adjusted  the  pall,  and  they  passed  out. 

Rising,  she  was  about  to  follow,  when  her  strength 
forsook  her,  and  she  fell  back  in  the  arms  of  Frank  and 
Aldeane  in  a  deathlike  swoon.  • 

The  carriages  were  returning  from  the  grave  when  she 
again  became  conscious.  Raising  herself  upon  the  pillow, 
she  looked  out,  and  said : — 

"They  have  returned.  All  then  is  over.  Raymond 
and  my  heart  are  buried  together." 

A  short  time  afterward  she  arose  and  slowly  and 
feebly  walked  into  an  adjoining  room.  Aldeane  followed, 
Avondering  much  what  her  motive  could  be.  It  soon 
became  apparent.  The  wedding  dress  and  paraphernalia 
lay  upon  the  bed.  Approaching  it  she  sat  down  wearily 
and  took  the  garments  in  her  hands,  passing  them  over 
the  glistening  satin  and  through  the  folds  of  rich  lace. 

A  casket  lay  beside  her.  Opening  it,  she  took  from  it 
a  splendid  set  of  diamonds — Raymond's  gift.  She  clasped 
the  bracelets  on  her  arms,  holding  them  up,  and  as  the 
sunlight  fell  upon  the  sparkling  gems,  smiled  almost 


212  ALDEANE. 

mockingly.  Again  unclasping  them  she  replaced  them 
in  the  casket ;  then  silently  folded  each  article  of  the 
•wedding  attire.  When  all  was  completed  she  packed 
them  carefully  away  in  a  small  black  trunk,  locked  it,  and 
turning  to  Aldeane  gave  her  the  key,  saying : — 

"  When  I  die,  Aldeane,  and  I  know  it  will  be  soon,  let 
me  be  buried  in  my  wedding  dress,  for  that  will  indeed 
be  my  happy  nuptial-day.  The  diamonds  I  give  to  you. 
Wear  them  at  your  marriage,  darling,  in  remembrance  of 
me.  The-jewels  of  Heaven  will  shine  brighter  for  me." 

Weeping,  Aldeane  murmured  her  promise. 

"  Now  leave  me  alone  a  little  while." 

Aldeane  turned  away,  and  went  to  her  own  room,  and 
placed  the  key  in  a  secret  drawer  of  her  writing-desk,  then 
throwing  herself  upon  the  bed  she  wept,  until  tired 
nature  claimed  repose  in  sleep,  while  Leonore  in  solitude 
was  entreating  that  heavenly  strength  and  guidance 
which  alone  could  enable  her  to  live  under  the  dire 
afflictions  that  had  darkened  her  young  life. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

A   LONG   AXD   FATEFUL   TALE. 

FOB  several  days  after  the  terrible  excitement  produced 
by  Raymond's  death  and  burial,  Aldeane  felt  but  little 
curiosity  to  learn  more  of  his  life  than  that  which  had 
been  so  tragically  revealed,  but  one  day  a  few  words  from 
Mr.  Blake  caused  her  to  remember  that  it  was  toward  him 
Raymond's  vengeance  was  directed,  and  also  that  he  had 
insinuated  that  his  story  had  been  written  for  her  perusal, 
because  of  some  possible  benefit  it  might  one  day  be  to 
her.  Thinking  of  all  this,  she  retired  earlier  than  usual 
one  evening,  and  although  she  was  quite  wearied  out  with 
much  attendance  upon  Colonel  Arendell,  who  for  some 
days  remained  extremely  ill,  and  with  quiet  devotion  to 
Leonore,  whom  she  saw  with  consternation  gave  evident 
tokens,  not  only  of  mental  anguish,  but  of  decided  ill- 
health,  she  drew  the  curtains,  locked  the  door,  and  taking 
the  packet  from  its  resting-place,  seated  herself  for  its 
perusal. 

As  was  natural  the  packet  aroused  many  painful 
recollections,  and  she  shed  many  tears,  and  hesitated 
long  ere  she  could  break  the  seal,  and  even  when  that 
was  done,  the  writing,  albeit  unusually  large  and  clear, 
seemed  dim  and  blurred  to  her  vision,  so  that  for  some 
time  she  could  scarcely  trace  even  the  divisions  of  the 
lines.  When  she  had  somewhat  composed  herself,  she  saw 
that  the  manuscript  was  without  preface  of  any  kind,  and 
that  it  began  abruptly  thus  : — 

"  Thirty  years  ago,  Grassmere,  the  place  now  owned  by 


2U  ALDEANE. 

Colonel  Areudell,  was  the  property  of  his  brother 
William. 

"  This  brother  was  wild  and  extravagant,  yet  of  an  open, 
kind  disposition,  and  generous  to  a  fault.  As  such  men 
usually  are,  he  was  beloved  by  all,  and  by  all  imposed 
upon.  The  place  had  been  left  to  him  by  his  father,  free 
from  debts,  but  did  not  remain  so  long  after  he  obtained 
sole  possession.  He  at  last  became  deeply  indebted  to 
Colonel  Arendell,  whose  wife  it  was  said  had  endeavored 
to  win  his  love,  but  failing,  had  received  the  addresses  of 
John,  and  had  at  last  married  him.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
she  seemed  to  harbor  no  ill-feeling  toward  him,  but  ou 
the  contrary  frequently  urged  her  husband  to  loan  him 
large  sums,  though  she  violently  opposed  his  accommo 
dating  any  one  else  in  the  slightest  degree. 

"  William  Arendell  at  this  time  OAvned  two  mulatto 
girls.  One  was  exceedingly  handsome,  named  Samira. 
It  is  of  her  alone  I  have  need  to  speak.  That  woman, 
who  still  lives,  and  is  known  to  you,  bore  to  her  master 
a  son,  the  unhappy  being  who  pens  these  lines  to  you." 

Aldeane  knew  all  this,  yet  she  paused  to  think  of  all 
the  misery  this  knowledge  had  caused  the  proud  heart, 
now  forever  still,  and  then  with  an  eager  desire  to  learn 
more,  she  caught  up  the  paper  and  continued  : — 

"  Strange  to  say,  my  father  owned  me  as  his  child — 
even  loved  me.  I  was  like  him,  with  the  addition  of  a 
childish  beauty  perfectly  remarkable,  and  which  rapidly 
increased  with  my  years.  You  may  think  this  a  strange 
thing  for  me  to  speak  of,  but  it  accounts  for  my  father's 
love — not  always  under  these  circumstances  a  sequence 
to  paternity — and  also  for  some  things  -which  happened 
later. 

"I  was  a  happy  child,  a  very  happy  child,  until  I 
became  about  six  years  old.  My  mother  was  virtually 
mistress  of  the  plantation ;  and  even  the  master  of  it, 
had  he  wished  to  do  so,  scarcely  dared  to  cross  me.  I 


ALDEANE.  215 

remember  now  that  the  plantation  was  the  scene  of  a 
thousand  wild  orgies,  and  that  a  great  many  of  the  least 
favored  negroes  mourned  over  them  a  great  deal,  and 
then  suddenly  disappeared,  sacrifices  to  their  master's 
extravagancies. 

"  At  last  there  came  a  time  when,  for  six  months  or 
more,  scarcely  a  guest  entered  the  house,  and  my  father 
seemed  a  changed  man.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he 
entered  my  mother's  cabin,  took  me  on  his  knee,  played 
with  me  a  short  time,  and  then  suddenly  kissing  me,  said, 
'  Samira,  I  am  going  to  be  married  !' 

"  My  mother  threw  herself  into  a  chair,  clasping  hex- 
hands  over  her  heart,  as  if  to  repress  some  violent  emo 
tion,  but  failing,  wept  passionately.  My  father  looked  at 
her  sorrowfully.  I  struggled  to  get  away  from  him,  that 
I  might  go  to  comfort  my  mother,  whose  wild  grief  I 
could  not  comprehend ;  but  he  held  me  tightly,  caressing 
me,  and  bidding  me  be  still.  My  mother  at  last  mur 
mured  brokenly : — 

" '  Ah  !  Mass'r  William  !  what  is  to  become  of  the  boy, 
poor  little  June  ?' 

" '  Dry  your  tears,  and  listen  to  me,  Samira,'  he  an 
swered,  laying  his  hand  on  her  shoulder.  She  endeavored 
to  do  as  he  wished,  and  was  soon  apparently  calm. 

" '  Junius  must  go  North,  and  you  with  him,'  were  his 
next  words. 

" '  And  leave  you  forever '?'  she  queried  wildly,  her  love 
rising  above  all  other  feelings. 

" '  Yes.  You  know  Samira,  had  I  been  able,  had  the 
laws  allowed  it,  I  would  have  manned  you.  But,  at  any 
rate,  our  child  shall  be  free.' 

" '  Yes.  Just  because  you  don't  want  your  wife  to 
see  your  son,  and  so  send  us  away  among  strangers, 
where  we  will  be  scorned  by  everybody.  I  don't  want 
to  go  !  I  wish  I  was  dead,  and  Junius  too !'  she  cried 
passionately. 


216  ALDEANE. 

" '  Samira,'  said  her  master  sternly, '  never  speak  to  me 
in  that  manner  again,  remember  that  I  am  your  master, 
though  the  father  of  your  child.  It  is  love  for  him,  and 
a  desire  for  your  happiness  alone,  that  prompts  me  to 
send  you  away.' 

" '  You  loved  me  once,'  she  moaned. 

"A  dark  flush  passed  over  his  face.  'Yes,  it  is  true,' 
he  replied,  '  but  not  as  I  love  the  lady  that  I  am  about 
to  marry.' 

" '  Yes.  If  I  had  been  white  and  rich,  I  might  have 
been  mistress  here,  instead  of  tool  and  slave,'  she  mut 
tered  bitterly. 

" '  Perhaps  so !  But  this  lady  is  not  rich,  she  does  not 
own  even  one  slave.' 

" '  Where  does  she  live  ?' 

" '  In county.' 

" '  When  are  you  going  to  be  married  ?' 

" '  Very  soon — in  about  three  months.' 

"My  mother  covered  her  face,  sobbing  wildly.  At 
last  she  lifted  her  head,  and  said,  brokenly :  '  When  must 
we  go,  Mass'r  William  ?' 

" '  Soon,'  he  answered.  Then  looking  at  me,  pressed 
me  to  his  bosom,  an  expression  of  grief  and  pain  passing 
over  his  face,  as  he  laid  it  upon  my  clustering  curls 
murmuring,  '  My  poor  little  boy  !  my  poor  little  boy  !' 

" '  I  don't  want  to  go  away,  without  you,  papa,'  I  said 
through  my  tears,,  for  I  had  cried,  since  first  witnessing 
my  mother's  agitation,  feeling  intuitively  that  some  great 
sorrow  was  about  to  fall  upon  us. 

" '  There  is  time  enough  to  talk  about  it,'  he  replied. 
Lifting  me  off  his  knee,  and  glancing  compassionately  at 
my  sorrow-stricken  mother,  he  strode  from  the  cabin. 

"  It  soon  became  known  to  the  rest  of  the  slaves  that 
the  master  was  about  to  be  married.  I  had  never  been 
a  favorite  on  the  plantation,  as  all  knew  that  I  was  not  a 
mere  slave,  and  supposed  that,  at  some  time,  I  should 


ALDEANE.  217 

be  emancipated  and  raised  above  them.  I  often  received 
unkind  words  and  looks,  though  seldom  blows,  for  they 
feared  my  mother  and  their  master  too  much  to  maltreat 
me.  After  this,  however,  their  manner  changed  toward 
me.  Pity  took  the  place  of  envy,  and  solicitude  of 
anger ;  for  they  supposed  that  we  should  be  sent  North — 
a  word  to  them  synonymous  with  utter  wretchedness — 
to  earn  our  living  among  unpitying  strangers ;  or  that  I 
should  be  kept  at  home  to  be  the  special  object  of  oppres 
sion  and  hatred  of  a  proud  and  exacting  mistress. 

"  Instead,  then,  of  being  hated  by  all,  each  seemed  to 
pity  me  and  my  wretched  mother,  who  seemed  to  dread 
separation  from  my  father  even  worse  than  continued 
servitude  in  his  presence,  and  at  her  old  home,  where 
many  days  of  happiness  had  been  passed,  the  remem 
brance  of  which  even  acute  sorrow  could  not  wholly 
obliterate. 

"At  last  our  master  brought  his  bride  home.  Ah! 
how  well  I  remember  that  day!  All  the  slaves,  save 
mother  and  myself,  were  dressed  in  holiday  array.  Their 
dread  of  a  new  mistress  seemed  forgotten,  and  they 
vied  with  each  other  in  loud  protestations  of  attachment 
and  obedience.  My  poor  mother  remained  alone  in  her 
little  cabin,  weeping  over  me,  while  I,  terrified  at  her 
violent  grief,  remained  quietly  in  her  arms.  As  the  sun 
was  near  its  setting,  I  heard  a  carriage  rolling  heavily 
down  the  road,  and  rushed  to  the  window,  my  mother 
forgetting  me  in  a  fresh  paroxysm  of  grief.  The  carriage 
stopped  at  the  gate,  and  I  saw  Mr.  Arendell  hand  out  a 
lady.  I  shouted,  '  Pa !  pa  has  come !'  and  was  about  to 
rush  from  the  room.  My  mother  sprang  to  the  door 
and  locked  it,  her  face  livid  with  watching  and  waiting. 
'  Go  back !'  she  commanded.  Trembling,  I  obeyed,  and 
crouched  in  a  seat  by  the  window,  following  me  she 
clasped  my  arm  until  I  shrieked  with  pain. 

"  '  Ah  !  I  forgot!'  she  muttered,  'I  believe  I  shall  go 
10 


218  ALDEANE. 

mad.  Listen  to  me,  Junius.  Never  let  me  hear  you  call 
Mass'r  William  pa  again,  he  is  not  your  pa,  and  you 
must  not  call  him  so.' 

" '  Yes,  he  is,'  I  began.  But  she  raised  her  hand  with  a 
passionate  gesture,  as  if  to  strike,  and  with  a  cry  of  terror 
I  shrank  from  her,  and  lay  down,  hiding  my  head  in  the 
pillows  of  my  cot  on  which  I  had  seated  myself,  and  cry 
ing  bitterly,  watched  her,  as  with  a  countenance  pale 
with  grief,  and  gradually  becoming  stony  in  its  coldness, 
she  moved  noiselessly  about  the  room.  As  the  dark 
shadows  of  night  fell  darkly  over  us,  rendering  her  almost 
indistinct,  I  fell  asleep,  with  the  first  sorrow  of  my  life 
pressing  painfully  upon  my  young  heart. 

"  The  next  day,  late  in  the  afternoon,  I  ran  from  the 
cabin,  in  which  my  mother  had  kept  me,  fearing  that  her 
mistress  would  see  me,  and  yet  knowing  that  at  some 
time  she  must,  and  hastening  through  the  garden,  soon 
reached  the  arbor,  now  so  completely  overrun  by  the 
wild  trumpet-vine.  It  was  then  almost  new,  and  very 
beautiful.  Throwing  myself  upon  the  bench,  I  wondered 
for  a  long  time  why  I  could  not  see  my  father,  and 
whether  he  had  ceased  to  love  me,  and  who  the  strange 
lady  could  be  who  had  made  my  mother  so  unhappy, 
and  why  ?  I  thought  for  a  long  time  on  these  points, 
and  I  suppose  fell  asleep.  I  was  awakened  by  a  sweet 
voice,  exclaming  in  accents  of  surprise  : — 

" « Oh !  William,  what  a  beautiful  child !     Who  is  he  ?' 

"  '  One  of  our — children.'     He  could  not  say  slave. 

"I  opened  my  eyes,  and  beheld  a  very  pretty  young 
lady,  small  and  fair,  with  a  profusion  of  brown  ringlets 
drooping  over  a  face  of  peculiar  beauty.  She  leaned 
upon  the  arm  of  Mr.  Arendell,  and  was  looking  at  me  in 
a  kind  of  delighted  bewilderment.  Not  long  however 
did  I  gaze  on  her;  forgetting  all  my  mother's  com 
mands,  in  my  joy  at  again  seeing  my  father,  for  he  had 
been  absent  several  days,  I  rushed  toward  him  with  a 


ALDEANE.  219 

shout  of  joy,  exclaiming,  '  Oh,  pa !  I'm  so  glad  you're 
back  !' 

"  Yielding  to  his  first  impulse,  he  clasped  me  in  his 
arms,  kissing  me  warmly.  His  wife  looked  from  me  to 
him  in  amazement.  At  last,  in  a  voice  half-choked  with 
tears,  she  demanded  :  '  Whose  child  is  that  ?' 

"  He  placed  me  on  the  ground,  a  crimson  flush  passing 
over  his  face  as  he  replied : — 

" '  It  is  the  child  of  a  young  mulatto  woman.' 

"  '  And  yours  !  and  yours  ?'  she  asked,  eagerly,  not 
indignantly  nor  harshly,  but  very  sadly  and  hopelessly, 
as  if  she  had  loved  an  idol,  and  sorrowed  to  find  it  clay. 

" '  Alice,  you  know  I  have  not  deceived  you.  Did  I  not 
tell  you  that  my  youth  was  spent  wildly,  recklessly ; 
that  I  was  not  fit  to  marry  one  as  pure  and  innocent  as 
you  are  ?  Yes,  Alice,  that  is  my  child,  and,  next  to  you, 
I  love  him.' 

"  She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  looking  up  into  his 
face  with  her  gentle  eyes.  '  I  do  not  wonder  at  it,'  she 
said.  '  He  is  a  beautiful  image  of  yourself.  You  spoke 
of  follies,  'tis  true,  but  I  did  not  expect  to  find  crimes.' 

"  '  My  Alice,'  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  deep  sorrow  and 
surprise,  '  Alice,  can  you  reproach  me  so  ?  Do  you  not 
remember  that  I  have  not  wronged  you  by  word  or 
deed  ?  and  do  not,  even  now,  conceal  the  truth  from  you.' 

" '  It  would  be  impossible  to  do  so,  William !  But  will 
you  make  a  slave  of  your  own  child?'  she  added 
bitterly,  '  or  what  will  you  do  with  him  ?' 

" '  Alice,  you  ask  too  much  !  I  don't  know  what  I  shall 
do  with  him.  Send  him  North,  I  presume ;  though 
'twould  break  his  mother's  heart  to  leave  the  South. 
But  of  course  I  shall  free  him !  Am  I,  then,  so  utterly 
depraved  in  your  eyes,  that  you  think  I  would  hold  my 
own  flesh  and  blood  in  bondage  ?' 

" '  Men  have  done  such  things,  and  do  them  still,'  sh*> 
replied. 


220  ALDEANE. 

"He  walked  up  and  down  excitedly.  While  she 
watched  him,  varying  emotions  of  disdain,  anger,  and 
triumphing  love,  passed  over  her  face.  I  was  then,  and 
am  still,  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  beauty.  As  I  looked 
upon  her  I  forgot  the  scene  I  had  witnessed  ;  her  stern 
questions  and  his  strange  replies,  and  catching  her  dress 
I  exclaimed : — 

" '  Oh !  what  a  beautiful  lady !  where  did  pa —  Mass'r 
William,  get  you  ?' 

"  She  glanced  at  me,  and  dropping  on  her  knees,  looked 
at  me,  as  one  might  gaze  on  a  brilliant  jewel.  '  You 
are  beautiful,  and  his  child !'  she  murmured.  '  I  love 
him,  and  I  can  not  scorn  you.' 

"  Mr.  Arendell  threw  his  arms  around  her.  '  My  love, 
my  own,  then  you  will  not  trample  upon  that  low-born 
child  ?' 

" '  No !  no !  his  beauty  conquers  me !  William,  I  for 
give  you,  let  him  be  the  same  as  ever  to  you.  I  will 
try  not  to  be  jealous.' 

"  Tears  rose  to  her  beautiful  eyes,  in  spite  of  her  at 
tempted  gayety,  and  with  an  inarticulate  exclamation, 
she  sprang  from  his  embrace,  and  ran  away  to  give  vent 
to  her  grief  and  surprise  in  solitude. 

"  I  remained  with  my  father,  asking  him  many  questions 
concerning  his  wife.  He  replied  to  none,  but  bade  me 
leave  him.  I  did  so,  and  looking  back,  caught  a  glimpse 
of  his  face,  paler  and  more  sorrowful  than  I  ever  saw  it 
before,  or  for  a  long  time  after. 

"  From  this  time  my  mistress  treated  me  very  kindly, 
and  at  last  really  loved  me.  My  mother  soon  loved,  as 
much  as  she  at  first  had  hated  and  feared  her,  and 
became  entirely  reconciled  to  her  who  had  so  completely 
superseded  her  in  her  master's  affections.  Three  years 
passed,  in  quiet  happiness  to  all  at  Grassmere.  No 
children  had  come  to  open  a  new  world  of  affection  to 
the  young  wife,  and  strangely  enough  she  showered 


ALDEANE.  221 

much  of  her  love  upon  me,  making  me  her  constant 
attendant.  She  taught  me  to  read ;  and  being  quick 
witted  and  anxious  to  learn,  I  made  great  progress.  I 
was  soon  able  to  read  to  her  as  she  sewed.  Ah !  how 
many  happy  hours  I  have  passed  in  her  room  at  Grass- 
mere,  sitting  at  her  feet,  reading  works  that  instructed 
as  well  as  amused  me !  oftentimes  interrupted  by  her 
sweet  voice,  explaining  dimcxilt  passages,  or  laughing 
with  me  over  some  humorous  scene.  How  much  I 
learned  to  love  her  you  can  easily  imagine. 

"  As  I  became  old  enough  to  feel  the  degradation  of 
slavery,  I  longed  to  flee  from  it.  To  go,  no  difference 
where,  so  that  I  was  unknown.  The  only  drawback  to 
this  longing,  was  the  grief  I  felt  at  leaving  my  mistress. 
The  negroes,  except  my  mother,  Aunt  Roxy,  and  her 
son  Abel,  I  detested  and  despised,  and  would  willingly 
have  parted  from  them  forever. 

"  Preparations  were  many  times  commenceed  for  our 
departure  for  the  North,  but  mother  could  never  endure 
the  thought  of  leaving  her  old  home,  so  it  was  indefinitely 
postponed ;  and  when  I  became  about  .ten  years  old  it 
seemed  likely  to  be  delayed  forever. 

"  All  was  peace  and  serenity  at  Grassmere,  when  sud 
denly  a  terrible  tempest  swept  over  it,  devastating  its 
beauty  and  destroying  all  happiness  forever.  Of  the 
nature  of  this  calamity  I  shall  not  speak.  It  is  a  secret 
in  the  Arendell  family,  and  I  can  not  disclose  it  even  to 
you.  Suffice  it  to  say,  it  took  from  our  home  its  master, 
and  from  our  hearts  all  peace  and  happiness.  I  shall 
never  forget  the  day  that  the  impending  evil  first  became 
apparent  to  us.  John  Arendell  came  to  Grassmere,  and 
a  scene  of  stormy  recrimination  and  earnest  denials  took 
place  in  the  trumpet-vine  arbor.  The  brothers  parted  in 
anger,  and  to  this  day  remain  unreconciled. 

"  Oh  !  what  darkness  fell  upon  us  that  night !  Dark 
ness  that  rests  over  one  in  the  grave,  and  upon  my  heart 


222  ALDEANE. 

to  this  day.  I  shudder  as  my  thoughts  turn  to  that  dread 
ful  time,  and  as  quickly  as  possible  I  will  pass  over  it. 

"  The  last  time  I  saw  my  master,  he  was  a  fugitive  from 
the  law — I  will  not  say  justice.  My  misti'ess,  accompa 
nied  only  by  me,  at  midnight,  led  a  horse  to  the  edge  of 
the  woods  below  Grassmere,  and  there  we  bade  him  fare 
well  ;  we  did  not  think  forever,  but  it  was  even  so. 

"  I  can  not  tell  you  all  that  we  suffered  at  that  time — 
not  from  bodily  want  or  privation,  but  from  deep  bitter 
ness  of  spirit.  Mrs.  Arendell,  mother,  and  I,  were  to  go 
to  Cuba,  where  my  master  was  to  join  us.  Arrangements 
were  made  as  speedily  and  quietly  as  possible.  They 
were  but  partially  made  when  my  mistress's  only  child 
was  born.  Her  sister  came  to  her,  to  find  her  dying. 
Not  many  days  elapsed  ere  the  young  mother  died,  leav 
ing  her  helpless  child  in  the  care  of  her  sister.  This  was 
my  first  great  grief.  I  shall  never  forget  the  utter 
wretchedness  of  my  heart  as  I  gazed  upon  the  corpse  of 
my  beautiful  young  mistress.  I  placed  some  white  rose 
buds — her  favorite  flowers — upon  her  fair  bosom  and 
within  the  pale,  waxen  hands,  my  heart  swelling  with  the 
deep  grief  that  neither  expressed  itself  in  words  or  tears. 
For  some  time  I  remained  as  if  stupefied  ;  so  fully  did  I 
realize  that  my  best  and  only  powerful  friend  on  earth 
was  removed  from  me.  Yet,  even  with  the  full  sense  of 
desolation  resting  upon  me,  I  had  no  conception  of  the 
trials  that  awaited  me.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  bet 
ter  for  me  had  they  been  fully  revealed,  for  my  body  as 
well  as  spirit  would  then  have  sunk  under  it ;  I  should 
have  followed  my  beloved  mistress,  without  further  pain 
or  suffering,  to  an  early  grave. 

"  The  day  of  the  funeral  arrived.  John  Arendell  and 
his  wife  came  to  Grassmere,  and  many  neighbors  flocked 
in — some  with  curiosity — all  with  sympathy  depicted  on 
their  faces.  In  utter  abandonment  to  my  deep  grief,  I 
lay  over  rather  than  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  coflin.  The 


ALDEANE.  223 

• 

negroes,  weeping  loudly,  were  gathered  around.  I  can 
not  remember  any  thing  of  the  services.  I  neither  heard 
nor  saw  any  thing.  I  was  aroused  from  semi-unconscious 
ness  by  seeing  some  men  approach  to  raise  the  coffin.  The 
sister  of  the  corpse  bent  down  and  kissed  her,  and  with  a 
wild  cry  of  despair  I  rushed  forward  to  look  once  more 
upon  the  dear  face  soon  to  be  hidden  from  my  gaze  forever. 

"  Mrs.  Arendell  sat  near  me.  Fixing  her  cold  eyes 
upon  me  disdainfully,  she  turned  to  the  servants,  com 
manding  them  to  '  Remove  that  child.' 

"  No  one  heeded  her  words :  when,  in  a  peremptory 
tone,  she  repeated  them.  The  servant  who  came  with 
them  caught  me  in  his  arms  and  carried  me,  sobbing 
loudly,  away.  The  fountain  of  tears  was  opened ;  a 
child's  grief  took  the  place  of  the  passionate  despair  that 
had  bound  me.  I  begged  to  go  to  the  grave,  but  was  not. 
permitted  to,  and  long  before  the  funeral  train  returned 
I  had  cried  myself  to  sleep,  only  to  awaken  to  deeper 
agonv. 

O          •/ 

"  John  Arendell  and  his  wife  remained  at  Grassmere 
with  their  overseer,  Richard  Blake,  to  settle  affairs  with 
the  sister  of  the  deceased.  A  long  conference  took  place 
in  the  library,  and  excited  voices  were  heard  contending 
loudly.  The  result  of  this  was,  that  Miss  Nellie — as  the 
servants  called  her — took  the  child,  declaring  that  as 
they  wished  to  wrong  her  out  of  most  of  the  property, 
they  might  take  all ;  that  her  pure  hands  should  never 
touch  one  cent  of  the  money,  and  that  she  should  not 
even  bear  the  name  of  the  Arendell  family.  All  that  we 
could  glean  was,  that  Colonel  Arendell  had  bought  large 
claims  upon  the  estate,  most  of  which  my  mother  declared 
were  false,  for  since  his  marriage,  William  Arendell  had 
been  exceedingly  prudent  and  economical,  and  had  paid 
nearly  all  his  debts.  Colonel  Arendell  seemed  much  ex 
cited  during  his  stay  at  Grassmere.  Mrs.  Arendell  and 
the  overseer  transacted  all  the  business.  Arendell  was  a 


224:  A  LDfA NE<, 

mere  automaton  in  their  haqds.  The  negroes  all  liked, 
yet  despised  him,  as  much  as  they  hated  and  feared  his 
wife.  They  already  felt  the  iron  rod  by  which  she  ruled, 
and  secretly  rebelled  against  her  unjust  authority.  Aren- 
dell  was  more  a  slave  than  any  in  Jbis  wife's  hands,  obey 
ing  her  slightest  caprice  more  in  fear  than  love,  even  sin 
ning  deeply  to  gratify  her  avarice  and  love  of  power. 
She  was  a  beautiful  demon.  Thank  God,  Leonore  does 
riot  even  resemble  her  in  person,  and,  I  trust,  does  not 
possess  one  of  her  vile  propensities !  She  was  avaricious, 
cruel,  and  unprincipled !  What  worse  can  be  said  of  a 
woman  ? 

"  Miss  Nellie  left  with  the  little  orphan  two  days  after 
the  funeral,  leaving  her  small  fortune  in  the  hands  of 
Colonel  Arendell,  assuring  him  that  it  should  never  be 
claimed.  I  never  saw  or  heard  of  either  afterward,  but 
I  trust  that  they  both  prospered.  God  lias  promised  to 
protect  the  good,  and  she  was  truly  one  of  that  class. 

"  The  estate  was  soon  settled,  and  immediate  prepara 
tions  were  made  for  removing  a  part  of  the  property  to 
Arendell  House. 

"Mrs.  Arendell  wished  to  reside  at  Grassmere,  as  it 
was  much  handsomer  than  the  house  they  then  occupied, 
but  the  colonel  combated  this  desire  with  unusual  reso 
lution  and  firmness.  He  seemed  to  have  taken  the  great 
est  dislike  to  the  place  that  had  been  the  home  of  his 
childhood  and  youth.  His  mind  was  ever  busy  conjur 
ing  up  the  forms  of  those,  whom  he,  an  unwilling  instru 
ment  in  the  hands  of  his  wife,  had  wronged.  As  quickly 
as  possible,  he  removed  a  part  of  the  family,  including 
my  mother,  Aunt  Roxy,  her  son,  and  myself,  to  Arendell 
House,  leaving  the  others  to  manage  the  farm  and  guard 
the  property.  A  valuable  and  beautiful  place  was  Grass- 
mere  at  that  time.  With  all  its  present  beauty,  it  is  but  a 
wreck  of  its  former  self.  The  house  is  chilly  and  dark, 
with  being  always  closed,  and  the  grounds,  but  carelessly 


ALDEANE.  225 

looked  after,  are  running  wild,  while  the  half-ruined  ar 
bors  and  houses,  with  their  garnitures  of  untamed  lux 
uriance,  show  plainly  that  partial  dissolution  reigns 
where  all  was  once  order  and  cheerfulness. 

"  No  sooner  were  we  settled  at  Arendell  House,  than 
the  hatred  of  its  mistress  toward  me  became  apparent. 
You  know  how  such  women  love ;  passionately,  unscru 
pulously  ;  so  had  she  loved  my  father,  but  when  she  dis 
covered  that  this  love  was  rejected,  she  hated  him,  and 
all  belonging  to  him,  as  passionately  and  unscrupulously. 
As  his  child,  I  was  forced  to  bear  all  the  weight  of  her 
malice,  and  it  was  very,  very  heavy. 

"  Aldeane,  I  can  not  tell  you  what  I  suffered  from  that 
woman ;  the  memory  of  whom  I  would  fain  cast  from  me 
forever,  so  utterly  do  I  abhor  it.  I  need  not  relate  the 
horrible  manner  in  which  she  continually  persecuted  me. 
She  made  me  perform  the  most  menial  offices,  and,  under 
pain  of  the  lash,  forbade  me  to  read  any  thing  whatever, 
hoping  thus  to  break  my  spirit,  humble  my  pride,  and 
t cause  me  to  forget  all  that  I  had  learned.  In  neither  did 
she  succeed ;  in  secret  I  satisfied  my  yearning  for  knowl 
edge.  I  thought  long  and  earnestly  over  many  plans  of 
escape  from  bondage,  but  lacked  sufficient  resolution  to 
put  them  in  practice.  I  felt  far  superior  to  all  that  sur 
rounded  me,  and  supposed  that  if  I  could  reach  my 
father,  he  would  acknowledge  me  as  his  son,  and  by  his 
love  and  care,  reward  me  for  all  that  I  suffered  at  the 
hands  of  my  cruel  mistress.  Her  conduct  laid  the  foun 
dation  of  that  firmness,  and  pride,  which  have  ever  been 
prominent  traits  in  my  character. 

"  Sometimes  Colonel  Arendell  faintly  pleaded  for  me, 
but  a  word  or  a  look  silenced  him,  and  with  a  deep  %jgh 
and  a  remorseful  look,  he  would  turn  away,  leaving  me 
helpless  in  the  hands  of  my  tormentors. 

"  At  first  I  know  that  he  wished  to  set  me  free,  as  my 
father  had  intended  to  do,  but  his  wife  would  listen  to  no 
10* 


226  ALDEANE. 

such  proposal.  She  preferred  to  keep  me  to  vent  her 
spite  and  malice  upon,  and  fully  she  did  it.  One  can 
scarcely  conceive  of  a  woman  so  fierce,  so  persevering  in 
her  hatred  as  she  was.  Her  black  eyes  would  glow 
with  fury  when  I  approached  her,  and  her  white  hand 
ring  upon  my  quivering  flesh.  But  I  will  not  sicken  you 
further,  but  pass  on  to  an  event  that  shaped  all  my  fu 
ture. 

"Mrs.  Arendell  possessed  an  elegant  diamond  ring; 
for  some  reason  she  valued  it  above  all  her  jewels.  When 
I  had  been  with  her  some  three  years  she  lost  it.  She 
was  usually  very  careful,  yet  sometimes  she  would  leave 
money  and  valuables  on  her  table,  and  none  had  ever 
been  missed  before.  Negroes  will  usually  thieve,  and 
those  owned  by  Colonel  Arendell  were  no  better  than 
others,  but  they  feared  to  rob  her,  and  though  others  of 
the  family  suffered,  she  was  safe  from  depredation. 

"  Consternation  seized  on  all,  when  it  became  known 
that  this  ring  was  lost ;  search  was  made  in  every  con 
ceivable  place,  but  it  could  not  be  found.  Mrs.  Arendell 
declared  that  she  believed  it  to  be  stolen,  and  that  the 
culprit,  if  discovered,  should  receive  a  severe  whipping. 
I  trembled,  lest  I  should  be  suspected,  and  knew  that, 
althouglj  I  was  innocent,  I  could  not  prove  myself  to  be. 
With  the  rest,  I  searched  with  the  greatest  anxiety  for 
the  missing  jewel,  but  all  in  vain,  not  a  sign  of  it  was  to 
be  discovered. 

"  The  day  after  the  ring  was  lost,  Blake  came  to  me  as 
I  was  working  in  the  field,  and  ordered  me  to  go  to  my 
mistress's  room.  I  conjectured  immediately  for  what, 
and  my  heart  sank  within  me,  I  knew  that  I  was  to  be 
branded  as  a  thief,  and  I  cared  more  for  the  disgrace 
than  the  terrible  punishment  that  was  certain  to  follow. 
My  first  impulse  was  to  fly ;  but  I  remembered  that  that, 
would  be  useless,  and  only  turn  appearances  against  me. 
So,  wiping  my  soiled  hands,  and  putting  on  my  jacket,  I 


ALDEANE.  227 

walked  boldly  to  the  house,  and  to  Mrs.  Arendell's  apart 
ments.  I  knocked  at  the  door ;  it  was  opened  by  Colonel 
Arendell,  who  was  evidently  greatly  troubled  and  excited. 
His  wife  sat  near  the  window,  sewing  on  some  delicate 
fabric,  with  an  energy  quite  unnecessary.  Her  face  was 
Hashed  with  anger,  and  her  form  trembled  with  the  pas 
sion  she  vainly  endeavored  to  suppress.  I  went  in  and 
stood  near  the  table  in  the  center  of  the  room,  twirling 
my  cap  in  my  hand,  waiting  patiently  and  fearlessly  for 
her  to  address  me. 

"  The  colonel  looked  at  me  sadly.  '  Junius,'  he  began, 
*  I  am  very  sorry .' 

"  *  John,'  interrupted  his  wife,  '  you  put  me  out  of  all 
patience  !  Sorry  for  him,  indeed !  A  nigger  has  no  repu 
tation  to  lose,  and  a  thief  does  not  deserve  one,  at  any 
rate !' 

"  I  had  not  been  conscious  of  any  fear  before  this ;  if 
any  had  agitated  me  it  fled  at  that  moment.  I  stood  up 
right  and  demanded,  in  a  loud  voice,  '  Do  you  accuse  me 
of  stealing  your  diamond  ring,  madam?' 

"  She  actually  quailed  under  the  look  with  which  I  re 
garded  her.  '  I  not  only  accuse  you  of  it,  but  I  know 
that  you  did  it,'  she  replied.  '  So,  give  it  to  me  now  and 
your  punishment  may  be  less  severe  than  if  you  persist  in 
retaining  it.' 

" '  You  know  that  I  haven't  got  it,  Miss  Lucinda,'  I 
answered,  in  a  voice  I  endeavored  to  render  calm,  while 
it  trembled  with  passion,  '  you  know  it  well.' 

"  '  Don't  speak  to  me  in  that  manner,  nor  look  at  me 
so  impudently !'  she  screamed,  working  herself  into  a  vio 
lent  passion. 

"  Colonel  Arendell  began  to  say  something  in  my  be 
half.  '  Do  you  forget  that  he  is  the  son  of  a  miscreant^ 
and  that  he  is  a  slave  ?'  she  demanded,  fiercely.  '  Leave 
the  room ;  'twill  neither  do  him  nor  you  any  good  for 
you  to  remain  ;  he  shall  not  escape  me  !' 


228  ALDEANE. 

"Like  an  abject  coward  he  obeyed  her,  cut  to  the  quick 
by  her  unfeeling  remark,  but  lacking  strength  to  resent  it ; 
and  so  I  was  left  alone  with  my  unjust  accuser. 

"  For  some  moments  we  remained  silent.  "While  I 
gathered  strength  for  the  conflict  that  I  knew  was 
coming,  I  watched  the  dark  changes  that  passed  rapidly 
over  her  countenance.  I  knew  that  I  should  obtain  no 
mercy,  and  therefore  hoped  for  none.  Calmly,  and  with 
a  firm  resolve  to  avenge  myself,  though,  of  course,  I 
formed  no  idea  in  what  way,  I  waited  for  her  to  speak. 
Not  long  did  she  keep  me  in  suspense;  she  laid  her 
white  hand  heavily  upon  my  shoulder,  and  hissed  rather 
than  said : — 

" '  Where  is  that  ring  ?  I  know  that  you  have  it ! 
Where  is  it  ?  Speak !' 

" '  I  will  not  say  again  that  I  haven't  it,'  I  replied,  dog 
gedly,  '  for  you  know  that  I  spoke  the  truth  when  I 
denied  it  a  minute  ago.  But  why  do  you  accuse  me  ?' 

"  '  Because  I  left  it  in  this  room  the  day  before  yester 
day.  It  lay  upon  that  table,'  pointing  to  one  near  the 
window.  '  You  saw  it  lying  there,  and  stole  it.  Slave, 
I  am  positive  of  it.' 

"  'Slave'  was  the  name  she  always  gave  to  me, as  being 
expressive  of  utter  worthlessness  and  degradation.  '  I  did 
come  into  this  room  with  water,  as  you  ordered  me  to,'  I 
replied,  steadily,  meeting  her  look  of  hatred  and  contempt 
with  one  as  keen  and  bitter,  '  but  I  did  not  notice  the 
ring,  and  so,  of  course,  did  not  take  it.  I  shall  say  no 
more.' 

"  Aldeane,  I  can  not  repeat  the  language  in  which  that 
woman  accused  and  denounced  me.  At  last,  placing  her 
hands  upon  my  shoulders,  and  looking  down  into  my 
face,  she  cried  passionately: — 

"  '  You  are  like  your  father,  slave !  and  I  hate  you  as 
much  as  I  do  him  !  Yes,  yes !  I  hate  you !' 

"  '  I  know  it,'  I  answered,  mockingly,  '  and  all  because 


ALDEANE.  229 

he  wo  aid  not  marry  you !  He  would  rather  have  married 
my  mother  than  you  !' 

"  She  turned  deadly  pale,  but  fury  blazed  from  her 
eyes.  Springing  up,  she  snatched  up  a  small  dagger  that 
lay  upon  the  bureau,  and  threw  herself  upon  me  with  the 
fury  of  a  tigress.  I  felt  the  cold  blade  pierce  my  arm ; 
then,  with  a  powerful  effort,  threw  her  from  me,  and 
rushed  from  the  room,  the  door  of  which  closed  loudly 
behind  me.  Before  she  could  reach  me  I  jumped  from 
the  porch,  and  was  running  swiftly  toward  the  negro 
quarters,  when  Blake  seized  me,  exclaiming : — 

" '  Not  quite  so  fast !  not  quite  so  fast !' 

"  I  struggled  to  get  free,  but  he  was  a  young,  stalwart 
man,  and  held  me  fast.  One  of  the  negroes,  at  his  com 
mand,  brought  a  rope,  and  I  was  soon,  panting  with  rage 
and  exertion,  bound  hand  and  foot.  I  was  taken  away  to 
an  out-house  and  chained — yes,  chained  down. 

"  My  mother,  in  agony,  looked  upon  me,  but  I  heeded 
neither  her  entreating  looks  or  tears,  but  fought  impo- 
tently  with  those  that  bound  me,  while  they  laughed  at 
my  blind  passion.  '  Your  blood  is  flowing  now,'  said 
Blake,  pointing  to  the  stream  that  trickled  from  my 
shoulder.  Til  get  a  new  whip,  and  let  you  feel  the 
weight  of  it  to-morrow.  'Twill  draw  a  little  more,  per 
haps  !  and  cool  your  temper  a  little.' 

"  I  remained  for  many  hours  thus  chained.  I  threw 
myself  upon  the  floor,  and,  looking  at  the  manacles  upon 
my  wrists  and  ankles,  inwardly  resolved  that  when  those 
bonds  were  loosed  all  others  should  be  also.  I  swore 
that  I  would  be  free.  Those  who  looked  in  upon  me 
wondered  at  my  calmness  ;  they  could  not  see  the  tem 
pest  raging  in  my  heart,  and  the  fiery  thoughts  busy  in 
my  brain.  Not  a  sigh  or  a  tear  escaped  me;  a  new 
strength  animated  me.  I  was  conscious  that  a  new  era 
of  my  life  was  at  hand ;  and  trusting  and  believing  that 
it  would  herald  freedom,  I  calmly  awaited  it. 


ALDEANE. 

"  Night  came  in.  Mrs.  Arendell  had  looked  in  upon  me 
with  triumph,  her  cruel  eyes  glittering  fiendishly,  and  with 
her  detested  image  fresh  in  my  mind,  I  lay,  maturing  plans 
for  the  future.  About  midnight  I  heard  footsteps  cau 
tiously  approaching  the  house.  I  shuddered,  for  I  feared 
that  it  was  my  mistress  or  one  of  her  minions,  and  with  a 
thrill  of  joy,  I  discovered  that  my  fears  were  unfounded. 
Little  Abel  had  stolen  to  me  in  the  darkness,  and  kneel 
ing  beside  was  sobbing  in  my  breast.  As  I  felt  his  wet 
cheek  pressed  to  mine,  I  almost  forgot  my  resolution  to 
bear  all  with  stoical  indifference.  The  tears  rose  to  my  eyes, 
but  I  forced  them  back  and  begged  him  to  be  calm.  He 
soon  became  so,  and  told  me  all  I  wished  to  know  con 
cerning  the  feelings  of  the  negroes  toward  me.  Nearly 
all  believed  me  innocent  of  the  charge  under  which  I 
suffered.  My  mother  could  not  come  to  see  me,  but  Abel 
had  begged  to  be  allowed  to  do  so.  He  brought  me  some 
bread,  meat,  and  an  apple.  I  had  not  eaten  since  early 
morning,  but  had  not  been  conscious  of  either  hunger  or 
thirst ;  at  sight  of  food  I  felt  overcome  by  both.  There 
was  a  spring  at  a  short  distance,  and  I  begged  Abel  to  get 
me  some  water ;  he  did  so,  and  I  believe  nothing  so  re 
freshing  and  invigorating  ever  passed  my  lips. 

"  I  soon  sent  Abel  away,  fearing  that  he  would  be  found 
with  me.  He  left  me,  crying  bitterly,  while  still  deeper 
anguish  crept  into  my  heart  at  the  thought  that  I  should 
soon  be  separated  from  this  faithful,  though  young  sharer 
of  my  afflictions.  I  felt  that  even  for  the  sake  of  my 
kindred  I  could  no  longer  endure  my  thralldom,  imbittered 
as  it  was  by  the  hatred  of  an  evil  and  designing  woman. 

"  The  early  dawn  found  me  exhausted  with  thought  and 
watching,  yet  strong  in  my  resolve  to  bear  my  last  pun 
ishment  with  fortitude,  and  then  to  be  a  slave  no  longer. 
For  some  hours  after  daylight  broke,  I  was  left  alone. 
No  one  came  near  me,  and  I  began  to  think  that  they  had 
forgotten  me,  when  Mr.  Blake,  with  two  negro  men,  my 


ALDEANE.  231 

most  malignant  enemies,  entered.  I  still  sat  upon  the 
ground,  and  did  not  even  look  up  when  they  approached 
me.  Blake  ordered  me  to  rise.  I  did  so,  and  he  poured 
upon  me  the  vilest  abuse,  hoping  to  excite  my  ire.  But 
although  my  heart  burnt  like  coals  of  fire,  and  I  longed 
to  turn  upon  and  rend  him,  I  restrained  myself  and 
suffered  him  to  lead  me  away  to  the  place  of  punishment. 
I  spoke  not  a  word,  and  Blake  cursed  me  for  my  silence. 
As  we  passed  by  the  kitchens,  many  of  the  servants 
looked  at  me  compassionately,  while  some  laughed  glee 
fully  at  my  discomfiture.  My  mother  was  there.  She 
looked  at  me — and  never  shall  I  forget  the  look  of  horror 
and  wildness  in  her  eyes.  They  led  me  on  until  we  came 
to  the  oak-tree,  under  which  I  found  you  standing  this 
afternoon.  It  was  much  smaller  then.  The  colonel  and 
Mrs.  Arendell  were  standing  there,  the  former  pale  with 
anxiety,  the  latter  exultant  in  her  victory.  As  we  ap 
proached,  she  came  up  to  me,  and  striking  me  with  the 
palm  of  her  hand,  exclaimed  : — 

" '  "We  will  teach  you  to  steal,  slave  !  Tell  me  now 
where  that  ring  is  ?' 

"  My  cheek  burned  more  with  indignation  than  the  force 
of  the  blow.  My  passion  was  too  great  to  admit  of 
speech. 

"  Blake  tied  my  hands  so  tightly  that  the  cords  cut  my 
flesh.  My  wrists  were  as  white  and  delicate  as  yours, 
Aldeane,  and  those  cruel  bonds  raised  purple  welts  upon 
them,  seeing  which,  Colonel  Arendell  loosened  them,  and 
whispered,  '  Junius  be  brave  !  I  can  not  help  you.  I 
would  if  I  could.' 

"  As  he  turned  away,  his  breast  heaving  with  a  sigh,  I 
said  humbly,  '  Thank  you,  sir.' 

"  They  thought  it  was  because  he  had  loosened  my  bonds, 
but  instead,  it  was  for  the  cheering,  sympathetic  words 
he  had  spoken.  Mrs.  Arendell  frowned  darkly,  and  or 
dered  me  to  be  tied  up.  I  was  stripped  to  the  waist,  and 


232  ALDEANE. 

then  lashed  to  the  tree.  As  Blake  raised  his  heavy  whip, 
to  give  the  first  blow,  Colonel  Arendell  stepped  forward 
exclaiming : — 

"  '  Stop  !  he  shall  not  be  whipped !' 

"  Mrs.  Arendell  turned  toward  him,  white  with  passion, 
'  You  have  nothing  to  do  with  that  boy  !  You  gave  him 
to  me.  He  is  my  slave,  not  yours  !' 

"  He  turned  away,  casting  his  eyes  imploringly  and 
sorrowfully  upon  me.  I  could  not  withstand  that  look, 
and  cried,  '  Master  John !  I  don't  blame  you !  Indeed,  I 
don't !' 

"'Strike,  Mr.  Blake!'  commanded  Mrs.  Arendell,  and 
the  lash  fell  heavily  upon  my  shoulders.  Just  as  he  was 
about  to  repeat  the  blow,  the  overseer's  arm  was  seized 
by  my  mother,  who  with  a  shriek,  sprang  upon  him 
almost  overpowering  him  by  the  fury  and  suddenness  of 
the  attack.  Recovering  from  the  surprise  occasioned  by 
this  unexpected  interference,  he  raised  the  heavy  whip, 
which  she  was  attempting  to  wrest  from  him,  and  dealt 
her  a  furious  blow.  Mrs.  Arendell  endeavored  to  pull 
her  away,  and,  with  the  butt-end  of  the  whip,  Blake 
again  struck  her;  it  was  made  of  lead,  and  the  blo\v 
stunned  her.  She  fell  at  his  feet,  and  he  kicked  her 
brutally,  then  dragged  her  out  of  the  way,  while  I,  for 
whom  she  had  dared  so  much,  was  bound  hand  and  foot, 
totally  unable  to  defend  her.  I  loved  my  mother  de 
votedly,  and  at  this  sight  my  passion  triumphed  over 
reason.  From  very  excess  of  rage,  unable  to  speak,  I 
foamed  at  the  mouth,  in  my  heart  swearing  vengeance, 
and  pouring  upon  both  mistress  and  overseer,  and  the 
cowardly  master  also,  the  most  fearful  imprecations. 

" '  Richard,  continue  !'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Arendell,  '  You 
will  have  no  interruption  this  time,  I  presume !' 

"  *  I  guess  not !'  he  laughed,  and  turning  toward  me 
applied  the  whip  ferociously.  I  felt  the  blood  trickling 
slowly  down  my  back.  I  heard  the  whiz  of  the  lash  as 


ALDSANE. 


233 


it  cleft  the  air ;  but  above  all,  I  remembered  the  low 
moan  my  mother  had  uttered  as  she  sank  beneath  the 
blow  of  my  persecutor.  It  rang  in  my  ears,  nerving  me 
to  bear  that,  under  which,  else,  I  certainly  should  have 
sunk.  A  shrill  cry,  that  I  could  not  repress,  occasionally 
escaped  me ;  and  when  the  punishment  ceased,  from  sheer 
exhaustion,  from  no  will  of  my  own,  I  was  silent. 

"  Mrs.  Arendell  laid  her  hand  upon  my  bare  shoulder, 
and  my  flesh  shrank  from  her  touch.  Every  muscle 
contracted,  so  deep  was  the  loathing  that  my  whole  being 
bore  toward  her.  '  We  have  taught  him  submission,  I 
think,  Mr.  Blake,'  she  said  with  a  fiendish  smile,  and  a 
viperish  glitter  in  her  cruel  eyes. 

"  The  overseer  smiled  savagely.  Wiping  the  perspira 
tion  from  his  brow,  he  raised  the  whip  as  if  to  strike 
again,  but  a  gleam  of  pity  must  have  entered  his  heart, 
for  the  blow  fell  upon  the  empty  air,  and  he  commenced 
loosing  me. 

"My  mother  was  again  conscious,  and  slowly,  as  if 
just  awakened  from  a  painful  dream,  she  rose  from  the 
ground  and  came  toward  me.  The  cold  stony  look 
crept  into  her  eyes,  and  settled  upon  her  face,  that  I  had 
seen  there  the  night  my  father  brought  his  bride  home. 

"  She  did  not  scream  or  cry,  when  she  saw  the  blood 
dripping  from  my  wounds.  A  shudder  ran  through  my 
frame ;  sick  at  heart,  I  leaned  against  her.  She  placed 
my  shirt  over  my  shoulders,  and  was  about  to  lead  me 
away,  when  Mrs.  Arendell  exclaimed  peremptorily : — 

" '  Samira,  let  the  boy  alone  !  we  will  manage  him.' 

"  My  mother  did  not  reply,  but  lifted  me  in  her  arms, 
her  strength  seemed  renewed,  but  mine  was  entirely  gone, 
and  carried  me  away.  Mrs.  Arendell  called  upon  Blake 
to  prevent  her,  but  he  evidently  considered  it  a  danger 
ous  task  to  confront  that  calm,  yet  deeply  infuriated 
woman.  So  she  carried  me  away  to  the  negro  quarters, 
and  as  I  was  laid  upon  a  bed,  a  sharp,  excruciating  pain, 


234  ALDEANE. 

from  my  lacerated  flesh,  convulsed  my  frame,  and  over 
come  by  my  suffering  mind  as  well  as  body,  succumbed 
under  this  weight  of  exquisite  agony,  and  I  fainted,  to 
awaken  with  all  the  horrors  of  delirium  upon  me. 

"  When  I  again  became  conscious  it  was  night,  a  soli 
tary  candle  flickered  through  the  gloom  of  the  apartment. 
My  mother  was  bending  over  me,  the  look  of  cold  de 
spair  still  resting  upon  her;  and  my  master  stood  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed.  His  arms  were  crossed  over  his  breast, 
and  his  head  was  bent  low.  A  sorrowful  man  did  he 
look,  as  he  gazed  upon  me. 

" '  They  have  killed  him,  Mass'r  John !  they  have  killed 
him  !'  were  the  first  words  I  heard. 

"  A  dim  recollection  of  all  that  had  passed  swept  over 
me.  Reaching  forth  my  hand  I  touched  my  mother's 
that  lay  upon  the  bed.  She  caught  it  with  an  exclama 
tion  of  joy,  and  kissed  me.  Colonel  Arendell  came  to 
the  bedside  and  took  my  hand.  With  a  shudder,  I  with 
drew  it. 

"  '  What !  do  you  hate  me,  Junius  ?'  he  asked.  '  You 
know  that  I  could  not  prevent  this.' 

"  '  I  know  that  you  are  not  master  here,'  I  replied,  sar 
castically,  'but  you  should  be.  I  am  your  own  brother's 
child !  yet  you  stood  by  and  saw  them  try  to  murder  me. 
Yes !  I  do  hate  you  !  and  my  revenge  shall  be  terrible  !' 

"  I  was  becoming  fearfully  excited.  Colonel  Arendell 
stood  astounded  at  my  words.  My  mother  begged  him 
to  go  away,  and  he  complied,  leaving  me  to  exult  over 
what  should  be,  while  he  could  but  grieve  over  what  had 
passed. 

"  I  received  some  water  from  my  mother's  hand,  then 
turned,  and  fell  into  a  long  and  troubled  sleep,  from 
which  I  awoke  in  a  violent  fever,  suffering  excessively 
from  my  wounds.  My  faithful  watcher  was  still  beside 
me,  striving  to  alleviate  my  pain.  I  lay  in  bed  a  week, 
as  much  overcome  by  mental  as  bodily  suffering. 


ALDEANE.  235 

"  During  all  that  time  I  thought  only  of  escape  and 
revenge,  but  formed  no  plans  to  effect  either.  I  was  as  yet 
too  weak  for  connected  thought.  As  soon,  however,  as  I 
was  able  to  leave  my  bed,  my  mind  regained  all  its  for 
mer  strength,  and  I  conceived  and  matured  the  plan  that 
led  to  my  escape  from  bondage. 

"  My  mistress  had  found  her  ring  in  a  desk,  in  which 
she  had  carelessly  placed  it ;  so  I  was  free  from  the  taint 
that  had  rested  upon  my  character.  I  saw  her  once  only 
after  the  day  upon  which  I  was  punished.  The  ring  was 
upon  her  hand.  She  drew  it  off  when  she  saw  me ;  and 
looking  at  me  contemptuously,  said : — 

"  *  So  you  didn't  steal  this  !  It  is  well  for  you  that  you 
did  not,  or  you  should  have  another  whipping — you  are 
recovered  enough  now !' 

"  I  did  not  reply,  but  merely  looked  at  her. 

" '  Ah  !  what  dreadful  eyes !'  she  exclaimed,  full  of 
passion  and  fire !  '  Slave,  you  shall  be  sold.  I  will  not 
keep  you  to  haunt  me  with  your  glances.' 

"  She  went  into  the  house  and  I  never  saw  her  again, 
save  in  my  dreams.  But  ah  !  she  has  haunted  me  then  ! 
She  has  walked  like  a  specter  through  every  vision  of  my 
life,  keeping  alive  my  hatred,  and  inciting  my  deepest 
and  deadliest  revenge. 

"  And  this  is  the  first  part  of  my  life." 


CHAPTER     XXVI. 

THE   CLOSE   OF   THE   FATEFUL   RECORD. 

AFTER  these  words,  there  was  a  long  blank  in  Ray 
mond's  manuscript,  and  Aldeane  could  readily  imagine 
that  he  had  paused  long  in  painful  thought  before  adding 
the  few  pages  which  still  remained,  and  which  she  pe 
rused  with  eager  attention.  This  portion  began  as  ab 
ruptly  as  the  first  had  done,  and  the  first  lines  contained 
simply  the  words : — 

"  My  escape  1 

"  As  I  have  said  before,  I  quickly  matured  a  plan  for 
effecting  this,  and  having  revealed  it  to  my  mother,  ob 
tained  from  her  all  the  sympathy,  and  what,  as  a  boy,  I 
felt  to  be  far  more  important,  all  the  aid  she  could  in  her 
circumstances  possibly  render  me. 

"  I  endeavored  in  vain  to  persuade  her  to  go  with  me, 
but  she  would  not.  She  feared  pursuit,  and  would  not 
impede  my  progress  by  her  weakness.  For  myself  I 
feared  little.  I  was  certain  that  Colonel  Arendell  would 
not  pursue  me,  and  scarcely  supposed  that  my  mistress 
would  cause  it  to  be  done  against  his  orders,  as  that 
would  make  her  passionate  temper  and  vile  disposition 
public.  As  they  owned  no  hounds,  I  had  no  apprehen 
sions  of  being  hunted  down  by  them,  and  therefore  con 
templated  a  safe,  though  laborious  escape.  My  mother 
declared  that  she  would  surely  follow,  but  no  arguments 
could  induce  her  to  accompany  me.  One  dai*k  night  I 
bade  my  mother,  Aunt  Roxy,  and  Abel,  good-bye  !  and 
started  on  my  perilous  journey.  Abel  cried  so  piteously, 


ALDEANE.  237 

that  I  turned  back,  and  could  scarcely  make  up  my  mind 
to  leave  him ;  but,  thrusting  a  much-treasured  five  cent 
piece  into  my  hand,  he  pushed  me  away,  saying :  '  Go ! 
go  !  but  come  back  some  day  for  little  Abel !' 

" '  I  will !  I  will,  indeed !'  I  cried,  and  with  another  kiss 
to  all,  I  left  them,  and  fled  through  the  darkness  of  the 
night,  listening  to  the  rushing  of  the  wind  through  the 
trees,  and  to  each  sound  of  insect  life,  vainly  striving  to 
hush  the  voices  in  my  heart  that  urged  me  to  turn  back 
to  my  loved  ones,  and  to  slavery. 

"  That  word  impelled  me  onward,  and  ere  the  daylight 
came,  I  was  in  the  woods,  farther  from  Arendell  House 
than  I  had  ever  been  before.  I  remained  there  hidden 
under  a  clump  of  hazel  bushes,  close  by  the  side  of  a 
brook,  satisfying  my  hunger  with  the  food  with  which 
mother  had  scantily  supplied  me,  and  slaking  my  thirst 
with  the  water  that  flowed  before  me.  At  nightfall  I 
again  continued  my  journey,  and  at  daybreak  came  in 
sight  of  what  seemed  to  me  then  a  very  large  town. 

It  was  R ;  not  a  very  large  place,  you  know.  Not 

wishing  to  be  seen,  I  remained  in  the  outskirts,  at  some 
distance  from  the  houses.  Although  I  was  quite  fair,  and 
could  easily  have  passed  for  a  white,  the  idea  of  doing  so 
never  once  occurred  to  me,  and  I  felt  the  greatest  trepida 
tion  if  I  chanced  to  meet  any  one,  as  I  did  once  or  twice. 
At  the  time  of  my  escape  it  was  the  fall  of  the  year — in 
October,  sixteen  years  ago.  The  season  was  very  rainy, 
consequently  traveling  on  foot  was  doubly  hazardous 

and  fatiguing.  I  remained  in  the  vicinity  of  R until 

dusk,  then  continued  my  flight.  My  supply  of  food  had 
already  become  very  small,  and  I  knew  not  how  to  re 
plenish  it.  The  com  and  fruit  were  gathered,  so  that  I 
could  not  even  get  them  to  assist  me,  and  I  much  feared 
starvation,  either  total  or  partial,  before  I  should  reach  a 
place  of  safety. 

"  Happily,  I  knew  considerable  of  geography,  and  deter- 


238  ALDEANE. 

mined  to  seek  some  sea-port.  I  first  thought  of  Newbern 
— but  remembered  that  some  of  Colonel  Arendell's  rela 
tions,  whom  I  knew,  resided  there,  and  if  they  saw  me  I 
should  probably  be  recognized.  So  I  turned  in  another 
direction,  setting  my  face  in  the  direction  of  Norfolk. 

"  I  knew  that  I  must  pass  through  a  dense  pine  forest — 
and  to  my  great  delight,  on  the  morning  of  the  fifth  day 
of  my  journey,  I  found  myself  there.  On  the  day  before 
I  had  knocked  down  a  bird  and  satisfied  myself  with  its 
half-cooked  carcass,  for  I  dared  not  make  a  large  fire  lest 
the  smoke  should  rise  above  the  tree-tops,  and  disclose  my 
hiding-place.  But  there  seemed  to  be  no  birds,  or  small 
animals  in  the  piny  woods — they  had  gone  farther  south — 
therefore,  though  I  searched  diligently,  I  could  find  noth 
ing  with  which  to  appease  my  hunger.  My  bread  was 
exhausted,  and  there  seemed  every  prospect  of  starvation 
before  me.  I  still  traveled  by  night,  for  I  feared  that  I 
might  be  discovered  by  some  of  the  men  who  lived  a 
solitary  life,  making  turpentine.  I  was  far  from  planta 
tions,  where  I  might  have  begged  a  morsel  from  the 
negroes,  and  there  seemed  nothing  obtainable  at  the  few 
rude  cabins  I  passed,  even  if  I  had  dared  to  make  known 
my  wants  to  the  inmates. 

"  My  courage  was  nearly  exhausted ;  two  days  had  I 
been  in  the  woods  and  had  eaten  nothing.  I  had  been 
walking  all  night,  and  just  at  daybreak  came  in  sight  of  a 
small  cabin.  A  woman  was  within  busily  engaged  in  get 
ting  breakfast.  A  tall,  dirty-looking  man,  stood  in  the 
doorway,  and  a  squalid  child  was  crying  on  the  floor. 

"  '  'Tis  the  last  meal  in  the  house,  John.  We've  scarce 
enough  to  make  a  pone  now !'  I  heard  the  woman  say. 

" '  I  can't  help  it !  How  can  I  get  more  ?  I  must  fell 
timber  to-day.  I  ought  to  have  been  at  work  before 
this.' 

" '  Yes ;  if  there's  any  walkin'  to  do  you  ha'  plenty  to 
do !'  replied  the  woman  in  a  .surly  tone  '  but  nary 


ALDEANE.  239 

hand's  turn  else.  Nary  bit  of  grain  should  we  have  to 
cat,  if  I  was  like  you,  you  triflin'  no-account  critter.' 

"  The  man  seemed  used  to  such  language,  for  he  did  not 
reply,  but  gave  a  long,  lean  hound  that  passed  him,  a 
sounding  kick,  which  elicited  a  fresh  scream  from  the 
child,  and  a  torrent  of  reproof  and  abuse  from  the  woman. 
At  last  they  sat  down  to  breakfast,  and  as  the  sun  began 
to  show  itself,  though  a  veil  of  mist,  for  the  swamp  ex 
haled  a  constant  vapor,  almost  impervious  to  its  brightest 
rays,  the  man  threw  his  ax  over  his  shoulder,  and 
walked  away.  I  was  about  to  enter  the  cabin,  and  beg 
food  when  I  thought  that  the  woman  and  child  were 
preparing  to  leave  it.  I  was  right  in  my  conjecture. 

"  The  woman  pulled  the  old  sun-bonnet  she  wore  still 
further  over  her  face,  threw  a  sack  over  one  arm,  and 
taking  the  child  on  the  other,  shut  the  door  of  the  cabin, 
and  to  my  infinite  delight  trudged  away.  She  passed  so 
close  to  me,  that  I  could  have  touched  her  but  I  held 
my  breath  lest  she  should  hear  it,  and  watched  her  until 
she  was  lost  to  sight. 

"  As  soon  as  I  was  certain  that  she  was  quite  gone,  I  ran 
eagerly  to  the  cabin,  pushed  open  the  door  and  entered. 
It  was  devoid  of  every  comfort,  and  contained  only  the 
most  necessary  furniture,  and  that  of  the  rudest  descrip 
tion.  I  noticed  nothing  of  this  when  I  first  went  in,  but 
went  immediately  to  a  small  cupboard,  that  stood  in  the 
corner.  There  was  a  little  corn  bread  and  a  slice  of 
bacon  upon  the  shelf.  I  eagei'ly  ate  a  part,  and  thrust 
the  rest  into  my  pocket.  I  was  very  wet  and  cold,  and 
uncovering  the  fire  found  a  bed  of  glowing  coals :  pla 
cing  thereon  a  few  pine-knots  that  were  scattered  about 
the  room,  they  soon  produced  a  cheerful  blaze.  I  sut 
down  before  it  to  warm  and  dry  myself,  and  had  partly 
succeeded,  when  I  heard  the  sound  of  loud  whistling ;  I 
raised  my  head,  and  saw  the  master  of  the  house,  his  ax 
on  his  shoulder,  leisurely  approaching.  My  heart  stood 


240  ALDEANE. 

still  with  terror.  For  a  moment  I  could  neither  think  or 
act.  Then  instinctively  I  rushed  to  the  door,  opposite  that 
by  which  I  had  entered,  sprang  out,  and  ran  through  the 
woods,  with  the  speed  of  a  frightened  deer,  for  over  an 
Lour,  impelled  by  the  fear  of  pursuit,  translating  every 
sound  into  a  shout  of  an  enemy,  until  at  last  I  stumbled 
over  some  object,  and  fell  on  the  ground,  still  faintly 
conscious,  but  without  the  power  to  rise  or  move.  Soon 
I  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  and  did  not  wake  until  night.  I 
was  shivering  with  cold,  and  the  noxkms  dew,  that  fell 
heavily.  My  first  impulse  was  to  continue  my  slumber, 
but  a  moment's  thought  convinced  me  that  too  much  dan 
ger  attended  it ;  and  I  feared  that  too  much  time  had  been 
lost  already.  I  looked  up  at  the  sky,  it  was  clear  and  be 
gemmed  with  stars,  that  cast  a  welcome  light  through 
the  gloomy  forest.  I  arose  and  slowly  walked  on,  taking 
the  direction  I  conceived  to  be  opposite  to  that  from 
which  I  came.  I  was  very  weary  and  at  first  could 
scarcely  proceed.  I,  however,  soon  became  more  supple, 
and  walked  cheerfully  on.  At  dawn  I  found  my 
self  on  a  large  public  road.  I  kept  on  it  for  about  two 
hours,  when  looking  back  I  saw  a  wagon  at  some  dis 
tance  behind  me.  I  sprang  into  the  woods,  and  hid  behind 
a  large  tree.  The  wagon  came  on  slowly ;  it  contained  a 
man  and  woman.  When  they  came  opposite  me,  she  said 
to  the  man :  '  How  far  are  we  from  Portsmouth  ?' 

"  Notwithstanding  the  risk  of  discovery,  I  bent  eagerly 
forward  to  hear  the  answer — '  Only  five  miles  !' 

"  Only  five  miles  from  Portsmouth !  No  words  can 
describe  my  joy  at  hearing  this.  My  heart  swelled  with 
delight ;  I  leapt,  and  would  have  shouted,  had  I  not  re 
membered  that  I  was  still  in  jeopardy.  I  hurried  on,  still 
keeping  in  the  woods,  and  retaining  sight  of  the  wagon, 
that  I  might  not  lose  my  way. 

"  As  we  approached  the  towns  the  country  became  more 
open,  and  with  considerable  trepidation  I  passed  through 


ALDEA  RE.  241 

the  suburbs,  thinking  that  every  person  was  looking  at 
and  would  recognize  me.  I  passed  on  unmolested,  still 
following  the  wagon,  that  I  had  taken  for  my  guide.  It 
rolled  slowly  on,  and  at  last  turned  into  one  of  the  prin 
cipal  streets,  and  stopped  before  a  large  house,  which  I 
afterward  discovered  to  be  the  market.  It  was  now 
about  seven  o'clock,  one  of  the  busiest  hours  of  the  day 
in  that  section  of  the  city.  I  was  struck  with  wonder 
at  the  crowd  of  people,  the  many  strange  things  I  saw, 
and  the  confusion  that  everywhere  prevailed ;  and  I 
trembled  beneath  the  many  curious  glances  thrown  upon 
me.  I  do  not  wonder  now  that  I  attracted  the  attention 
of  many ;  my  clothes  were  tattered,  my  face  thin  and 
haggard,  and  my  whole  appearance  extremely  wretched. 

"  For  some  time  I  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  market 
place,  afraid  to  speak  or  move ;  soon,  however,  the  crav 
ings  of  hunger  induced  me  to  leave  my  place  of  partial 
concealment ;  and  I  went  to  a  neighboring  stand,  and 
bought  a  meat  pie ;  then  returned  and  ate  it  eagerly. 

"  I  was  jostled  roughly  about  by  the  men  that  were 
moving  rapidly  around  me;  and  I  became  conscious 
that  I  could  not  stand  much  longer,  so  exhausted  was  I 
with  the  long  walk  I  had  taken  the  previous  night, 
together  with  the  exposure  I  had  endured.  So,  with  a 
faint  heart  I  left  the  market,  and  wandered  through  the 
streets,  turning  from  one  to  another,  seeking  refuge,  that 
I  might  take  the  rest  I  so  greatly  required.  I  walked  a 
long  distance,  and  at  last  came  to  the  beach.  There  were 
but  few  houses  in  sight,  and  a  few  boats  fastened  to  the 
shore,  and  drifting  with  the  tide,  showed  plainly  that  it 
was  not  much  frequented.  An  old  negro  man  was  the 
only  person  near.  He  was  opening  oysters  with  great 
dexterity,  and  I  watched  him  for  a  few  minutes,  with 
curiosity  and  admiration.  He  worked  busily  and  for 
some  time  did  not  notice  me.  Some  movement  of  mine, 
among  the  shells,  that  wei-e  scattered  around,  at  last 
11 


2i2  ALDEANE. 

attracted  his  attention.  He  raised  his  old  cap  from  his 
head,  and  pushed  it  back,  disclosing  a  line  of  white  wool 
.above  his  wrinkled  forehead,  and  regarded  me  with  a 
stare  of  surprise,  and  the  single  exclamation,  '  Well !  I 
'clar  for  't,'  broke  from  his  lips. 

"  I  was  frightened,  and  about  to  run  from  the  place, 
when  I  remembered  that  it  was  not  likely  that  he  had 
ever  seen  me  before,  so  I  kept  my  ground,  returning  his 
gaze  and  attempting  to  smile  in  a  cheerful  manner.  He 
seemed  to  appreciate  the  effort,  and  to  regard  it  as  an  in 
vitation  to  speak,  for  without  removing  his  eyes  from  my 
face  he  inquired : — 

"  '  Whar  is  ye  from  ?' 

"  I  hesitated  a  moment,  then  said,  '  From  North  Caro 
lina, — eastern  part.' 

" '  Neber  been  dar,'  said  he,  shaking  his  woolly  head, 
and  continuing  his  work.  I  was  about  to  go  away,  when 
he  looked  at  me  searchingly,  saying : — 

" '  You's  a  white  boy,  I  'spose  ?' 

"  The  blood  rushed  over  my  face.  I  had  not  before 
thought  of  attempting  to  pass  for  white :  now,  I  deter 
mined  to  do  so,  and  steadily  answered,  *  Yes ; '  adding 
laughing,  '  what  made  you  ask,  uncle  ?  Do  I  look  like  a 
nigger  ?'  turning  my  face  toward  him  a  little  proudly, 
for  I  knew  I  was  white,  and  every  one  said  handsome, 
though  I  appeared  at  slight  advantage  then. 

"The  old  man  seemed  satisfied,  and  said:  'Don't  be 
'fended,  dere's  good  niggers  as  well  as  white  folks,  but  I 
didn't  know  but  you  might  be  one  ob  dese  pesky  white 
niggers.' 

" '  No  !  no  !'  I  answered  quickly,  my  cheeks  burning 
with  shame. 

" '  What  did  you  leave  home  for,  eh  ?' 

"  I  thought  a  moment,  then  answered :  *  My  uncle 
treated  me  badly,  and  though  I  am  all  alone  in  the 
world,  I  won't  be  put  down.' 


ALDEANE.  243 

"  '  Dat's  right,  honey  !  dat's  right !'  replied  the  old 
man  approvingly.  '  And  is  de  man  rich  ?' 

"  '  Yes,  he  owns  a  great  many  slaves.' 

"  '  And  more's  de  pity,  chile  !  But  ain't  you  rich  too?' 
and  he  looked  at  me  quizzically. 

" '  My  father  was,'  I  returned,  '  but  his  own  brother 
robbed  his  heirs  of  all.' 

" '  You  look  pretty  rough,  anyhow !'  was  his  comment. 

"  '  I  guess  you  would  too,  if  you  had  walked  six  nights, 
and  hidden  in  the  woods  as  many  days !'  I  replied. 

"  '  What  ?'  cried  the  old  man,  throwing  down  his  knife, 
and  looking  at  me  in  astonishment.  '  Well,  if  you've 
done  dat  ar,  your  uncle  must  have  treated  you  worse'n 
anybody  kin  b'lieve !  What's  yer  name  ?' 

" '  Junius.' 

" '  Junius !  well,  hain't  ye  got  no  other  name  ?' 

"  I  thought  a  moment,  then  answered,  '  Allen — Junius 
Allen.' 

"  *  And  your  folks  is  rich  ?' 

" '  Very,'  I  returned,  somewhat  impatiently. 

" '  Then  ob  course  you  is  too,'  said  the  old  man,  mus 
ingly  ;  '  and  been  'posed  upon  by  yer  uncle.  He  must  be 
a  big  rascal,  sartain !  What  are  ye  'gwine  to  do  here  ? 
got  any  idee  ?' 

" '  Oh !  I  shan't  stay  here !  I  shall  go  North !'  I  replied 
quickly. 

" '  What  'gwine  dere  for  ?  got  folks  dar  ?' 

"  I  hesitated  a  moment,  then  answered — '  Yes.' 

"'Rich,  maybe?' 

" '  Oh !  yes.  I  believe  some  of  them  will  help  me !  At 
any  rate  I  shall  find  a  refuge  from  my  uncle.  I'm  afraid 
he  will  catch  me  if  I  stay  here  !' 

"  The  old  man's  respect  for  me  seemed  to  increase  as  I 
continued,  especially  when  he  was  assured  that  my 
family  were  not '  poor  white  trash,'  but  owned  a  large 
number  of  slaves. 


244  A.LDEANE. 

" '  Well !  young  mass'r !'  he  said  at  length,  '  I'm  jest 
nothing  but  a  poor  nigger,  but  I'm  free,  and  if  you  will 
come  to  my  ole.  cabin,  I  shall  be  mighty  glad  to  share 
all  I've  got  wid  ye.' 

"  This  invitation  I  gladly  accepted,  and  went  home  with 
him ;  but  was  so  utterly  exhausted  that  I  could  scarcely 
proceed.  The  old  man  pitied  me  much,  arid  on  our  ar 
rival  at  his  cabin,  introduced  me  to  his  wife,  as  '  Young 
Mass'r  Jxmius,  who's  runned  away  cl'ar  from  North 
Carliny,  from  his  ole  rascal  ob  an  uncle  who's  cheated 
him  out  ob  his  slaves  and  ebery  ting  else.' 

"  I  sat  down  by  the  fire,  and  took  oif  my  old  shoes-; 
the  blood  oozed  from  many  a  gaping  crack,  and  I  could 
scarcely  bear  the  acute  pain  they  gave  me. 

"  The  old  couple  seemed  horrified.  Uncle  Dick,  as  he 
told  me  to  call  him,  brought  me  warm  water,  and  Aunt 
Betsy  bathed  my  aching  feet.  Before  she  had  finished, 
I  fell  asleep.  When  I  awoke,  I  found  myself  in  a  com 
fortable  bed,  that,  in  my  exhausted  state,  seemed  a  perfect 
elysium  to  me.  The  candles  were  lighted,  and  my  en 
tertainers  were  sitting  at  their  evening  meal.  Some 
slight  movement  of  mine  attracted  their  attention,  and 
Aunt  Betsy  came  to  my  bedside. 

"  *  Is  you  'wake  honey  ?'  she  whispered. 

"  '  Yes,'  I  replied,  turning  toward  her  wearily.  '  But 
I'm  so  tired.' 

" '  Just  lie  still,  honey.' 

"  She  went  to  the  table,  and  presently  returned  with  a 
cup  of  fragrant  coffee,  and  some  hot  food.  To  me  it 
seemed  perfectly  delicious,  and  after  eating  and  drinking 
I  lay  down,  and  soon  slept  again. 

"  The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens,  when  I  again  un 
closed  my  eyes.  Aunt  Betsy  was  sitting  by  the  fire, 
knitting.  The  room  was  in  perfect  order,  and  wore  a 
cheerful  and  pleasant  aspect.  My  clothes  were  upon  a 
chair  at  the  side  of  the  bed,  in  a  much  more  presentable 


ALDEANE.  245 

condition  than  when  I  had  doffed  them.      I  arose  and 
dressed  myself,  feeling  still  very  weary. 

"  Aunt  Betsy  was  very  inquisitive,  and  asked  numer 
ous  questions,  to  all  of  which  I  replied  as  truthfully  as 
possible,  still,  however,  keeping  to  the  tale  I  had  told 
Dick.  Her  indignation  knew  no  bounds  at  my  account 
of  my  uncle's  treatment,  though  I  did  not  represent  as 
nearly  as  bad  as  it  really  was,  for  I  was  too  fearful  of 
raising  her  suspicions. 

"  At  noon  Uncle  Dick  returned.  He  seemed  pleased  to 
find  me  up  and  well. 

" '  'Spected  you'd  be  sick,'  was  his  first  remark.  Then, 
as  he  was  eating  dinner,  he  urged  me  to  tell  my  story 
again ;  and  though  I  was  weary  of  repeating  what  was 
only  partly  true,  I  did  so,  and  when  I  concluded,  he 
asked : — 

" '  Whar  do  ye  want  to  go  to  ?' 

" '  New  York,'  I  answered  quickly.  I  had  heard  my 
father  speak  of  that  place,  and  a  wild  hope  that  I  might 
find  him  there,  entered  my  mind. 

" '  New  York !'  repeated  Uncle  Dick,  musingly. 
'  Haven't  got  much  money,  I  s'pose  ?' 

"I  took  a  little  leathern  bag  from  my  bosom,  and 
spread  its  contents  upon  the  table  before  me.  Two 
quarters  of  a  dollar,  a  dime,  three  cents,  and  the  half 
dime  Abel  had  given  me,  were  all  that  I  possessed. 

"  '  Can't  pay  for  a  passage,  dat's  sartin,'  was  his  remark. 

"'But  I  can  work!  I  can  work,'  I  interrupted 
eagerly. 

"  Uncle  Dick  laughed.  '  "VVhar's  de  strength  to  come 
from?'  he  asked;  'besides,  young  gennelmen,  as  owns 
slaves,  don't  often  work  much.' 

" '  I  will  do  any  thing  to  get  to  New  York,'  I  returned ; 
but  I  felt  as  I  spoke,  that  my  strength,  if  taxed  severely, 
would  soon  give  way. 

" '  Stay  in  de  house  till  I  come  back,'  was  Uncle  Dick's 


246  ALDEANE. 

parting  injunction.  When  he  returned  in  the  evening, 
he  was  accompanied  by  a  tall,  fine-looking  white  man. 

"  '  This  is  Jack  Field,'  he  said.  '  I've  been  tellin'  him 
'bout  you ;  he's  a  sailor,  and  often  goes  to  New  York — 
perhaps  he  kin  help  ye  some.' 

"  My  heart  leapt  at  the  suggestion,  and  I  exclaimed, 
'  Oh,  if  he  would !  Oh,  sir,  can  you  help  me  to  New 
York?' 

" '  Well,  you're  a  nice-looking  craft,  anyhow,  and  if 
you  was  tugged  out  of  harbor,  would  sail  against  any 
wind,  I  reckon.' 

"  I  did  not  heed  his  evident  admiration  of  my  person, 
but  asked  again,  '  Will  you  help  me,  sir  ?  I  must  go  to 
New  York !' 

"  '  And  where's  your  friends,  when  you  do  get  there  ?' 

"  I  hesitated  a  moment,  then  replied  :  '  I  don't  know 
exactly,  but  everybody  will  know  them,  they  are  so  rich, 
and  rich  people  are  always  well  known.' 

"  Field  laughed.  '  New  York  is  a  pretty  large  place, 
my  lad  ;  however  you  may  find  them  when  you  get  there. 
You're  willin'  to  risk  it,  anyhow,  are  you  ?' 

" '  Oh,  yes,  indeed !' 

" '  Well,  'tis  none  of  my  business  !  Old  man  Dick,  here, 
wants  me  to  help  you,  and  I  like  your  face,  and  think  I 
will ;  besides,  I  ran  away  from  home  myself,  and  know 
what  it  is  to  need  a  friend.' 

"  He  then  told  us  a  long  story  about  his  early  priva 
tions  and  struggles,  and  of  his  ultimate  success  in  life, 
and  then  said,  '  What  do  you  think  of  starting  to-morrow, 
or  will  you  wait  till  next  time?  'twill  only  be  two 
weeks.' 

" '  I  will  go  to-morrow  by  all  means,'  I  answered, 
quickly. 

" '  All  right,  then.  You  must  bring  him  aboard  with 
the  oysters  to-morrow,  Uncle  Dick.' 

" '  Sartin.' 


ALDEANE. 

" '  I'll  stow  you  away,  somewhere.  Come  on  board  as 
if  you  merely  came  to  help  the  old  man  unload.  Don't 
let  anybody  know  that  you  intend  to  stay ;  for  the  skip 
per  will  tear  around  above  a  little,  if  he  finds  you  while 
you're  on  board.' 

"  '  I'll  be  perfectly  quiet,  he  sha'nt  find  me,'  I  replied. 

"  Field  shook  hands  with  me ;  looked  at  me  admiringly ; 
muttered  under  his  breath, '  A  reg'lar  beauty,  and  no  mis 
take,'  and  walked  away. 

"  My  beauty  served  me  a  good  turn,  then.  It  interested 
the  sailor  in  my  behalf,  and  led  to  my  quick  removal  to  a 
free  soil.  For  that  reason,  I  speak  candidly  and  thank 
fully  of  it,  but  without  undue  vanity,  I  thank  God  for  the 
beauty  so  plentifully  bestowed  upon  me  in  my  childhood ; 
it  was  the  instrument  of  procuring  for  me  all  the  happi 
ness  of  my  after  life. 

"  Early  the  ensuing  morning  we  went  on  board  the 
schooner  as  Field  had  directed.  He  came  forward  to 
greet  us.  The  oysters  were  soon  unloaded,  and  Uncle 
Dick  was  ready  to  go.  As  he  shook  hands  with  me,  tears 
glistened  in  his  eyes,  and  he  muttered,  '  I've  1'arned  to 
love  ye  mighty,  young  mass'r;  I  b'lieve  you  is  a  true 
boy,  and  will  make  a  good  man,  de  Lord  prosper  ye !' 

"  *  Come !  come  down  here !'  said  Field,  '  or  some  of 
the  hands  will  see  you !'  and  he  half  forced  me  down  the 
hatchway.  I  could  merely  utter  the  words,  '  Good-bye  ! 
I  shall  never  forget  you!'  and  then  lost  sight  of  my 
humble  old  friend  forever.  Poor  old  man !  his  memory 
is  a  bright  spot  in  those  days  of  trial  and  suffering.  But 
for  him  I  might  have  perished,  or,  worse  still,  have  been 
again  returned  to  slavery ;  for  the  persecutors  of  slaves 
are  always  ready  to  pounce  upon  unfortunate  runaways, 
and  it  is  not  probable  that  I  could  have  long  escaped 
them. 

"  The  schooner  was  soon  under  weigh,  and  I  was  begin 
ning  to  breathe  more  freely,  with  every  movement  that  bore 


248  ALDEANE. 

us  farther  from  the  Southern  coast.  Field  had  not  shown 
himself,  even  for  a  moment,  and  I  had  not  seen  any  per 
son  else,  as  all  were  busy  above  me.  I  was  becoming 
rather  lonely  when  I  saw  a  newspaper  lying  upon  a  bunk. 
I  took  it  up,  and  read  all  the  articles  of  interest  that  it 
contained,  and  was  about  to  return  it  to  its  place,  when 
an  advertisement  of  a  runaway  slave  caught  my  eye.  I 
read  it  in  the  utmost  alarm;  every  feeling  of  security 
vanished,  and  I  again  felt  the  hatred  of  my  mistress  in 
the  degrading  words  : — 

"  '  Runaway — From  Arendell  House, County,  N". 

C.,  on  the  20th  day  of  October,  my  negro  boy  Junius.  He 
is  about  thirteen  years  old,  and  very  handsome.  He  is 
no  doubt  passing  as  a  white  boy.  A  liberal  reward  will 
be  paid  for  any  information  of  him.  If  apprehended, 
please  lodge  him  in  some  jail,  where  I  can  get  him. 

"'Mrs.  J.  C.  AKENDELL.' 

"  My  brain  seemed  on  fire  with  excitement,  as  I  read. 
Mrs.  Arendell  was  still  persecuting  me ;  my  master  had 
not  even  given  his  sanction  to  this,  for  his  name  was  not 
signed. 

" '  Field  has  betrayed  me  !  he  is  taking  me  to  some 
port  in  North  Carolina  !'  was  my  first  thought ;  and  I 
leaped  up  madly.  I  looked  at  the  date  of  the  paper. 
It  was  that  day's  issue  ;  and  I  knew  that  Field  could  not 
have  seen  the  advertisement,  at  least,  before  that  morn- 
ins:,  therefore  in  all  likelihood  I  was  safe.  I  hid  the 

O  / 

paper  behind  a  chest,  hoping  that  it  would  not  be  seen 
until  the  end  of  the  voyage. 

"  When  Field,  and  the  rest  of  the  sailors  appeared,  he 
introduced  me  as  his  cousin,  who  had  persuaded  him  to 
take  me  to  New  York  on  a  pleasure  trip.  I  was  heartily 
welcomed  by  all,  and  passed  a  week  with  them  very 
pleasantly.  During  the  voyage,  my  mind  was  actively 
engaged  in  forming  plans  for  my  future  walk  in  life. 


ALDEANE.  249 

Not  once  did  I  think  of  becoming  a  sailor,  although  Field 
several  times  suggested  it.  I  could  not  reconcile  myself 
to  the  idea  of  constant  association  with  such  men  as  I 
saw  around  me ;  yet  I  knew  not  what  else  to  do.  I  had 
no  idea  of  New  York,  except  that  it  was  a  much  larger 
and  handsomer  place,  than  any  I  had  yet  seen.  I  sup 
posed,  however,  that  employment  could  be  easily  found, 
even  by  a  stranger,  and  child,  as  I  then  was.  Field  shook 
his  head  doubtfully  when  I  mentioned  this,  said  nothing 
to  discourage  me,  but  asked : — 

" '  Why  not  go  to  your  relations  ?' 

"  I  dared  not  own  that  I  had  none  in  the  city.  I  felt 
too  keenly  the  danger  of  arousing  his  suspicions ;  so  I 
said  no  more  upon  the  subject,  hoping  that  in  some  way 
I  should  be  able  to  gain  a  living.  I  confined  my  doubts 
and  fears  to  my  own  breast,  and  endeavored  to  appear 
as  cheerful  as  was  possible,  under  the  circumstances. 
There  are  times  when  gayety  is  assumed  to  hide  feelings 
of  deepest  melancholy.  So  was  it  with  me  at  this  time. 
Though  deeply  harassed  in  mind,  my  companions  saw 
no  trace  of  it.  My  laugh  was  loud  and  frequent.  I  told 
all  the  humorous  stories  I  had  ever  heard,  or  read,  not 
more  to  amuse  the  sailors  than  to  divert  my  own  mind 
from  the  channel  of  doubt  and  perplexity  in  which  it 
ceaselessly  wandered.  I  longed,  yet  feared  to  reach  my 
destination.  I  knew  not  what  might  befall  me  in  the 
great  and  strange  city.  Therefore,  it  was  with  mingled 
feelings,  that  I  at  last  heard  that  we  were  entering  New 
York  harbor.  But  all  gloom  vanished  when  I  thought 
that  in  a  few  hours  I  should  tread  a  free  soil,  loosed  from 
the  shackles  of  slavery. 

"The  schooner  cast  anchor  at  the  landing-place,  and 
remained  there  some  hours,  before  I  found  courage  to  go 
on  deck.  Field  came  down  to  tell  me  that  I  could  go 
ashore  if  I  wished.  As  I  had  no  baggage,  I  was  soon 
ready,  and  bidding  the  little  crew  adieu,  I  stepped 
11*- 


250  ALDEANE. 

with  a  trembling  heart  upon  the  land,  and  with  a  thrill 
of  exultation,  thought  that  ere  long  I  might  rise  to  dis 
tinction,  among  those  who  would  scorn  me,  if  they  knew 
the  story  of  my  birth.  I  sent  many  kind  messages  to 
Uncle  Dick  and  Aunt  Betsy,  and  though  I  could  send 
them  nothing  of  value  then,  I  said  in  my  grateful  heart, 
that  they  should  be  rewarded,  at  least  in  part,  for  what 
they  had  done.  I  could  but  press  Field's  hand  in  silence. 
The  tears  rising  unbidden,  blurred  my  sight,  and  pre 
vented  utterance. 

"  'If  you  can  not  find  your  friends,  lad,'  said  he,  at  part 
ing,  'come  back  to  the  dock  at  night.  New  York  is  not 
the  safest  place  in  the  world  for  a  stranger  to  be  in  after 
dark;  so  come  back  if  you  can  do  no  better.  You'll 
know  the  place  again,  I  guess  ?' 

"  '  Oh  yes,  certainly,  I  shall !  I  guess  you  will  see  me 
again,'  I  replied,  as  I  left  him,  with  the  conviction  that 
his  invitation  would  surely  be  accepted.  I  walked  on 
through  the  crowded  streets  near  the  river,  seeing  much 
that  struck  me  with  wonder  and  admiration.  Although 
New  York  has  grown  immensely  since  the  time  of  which 
I  speak,  it  seemed  to  me  then  a  perfect  labyrinth  of 
streets.  I  moved  on,  in  amazement,  through  the  streets  and 
avenues,  looking  with  admiration  at  the  beautiful  houses 
that  arose  on  every  hand.  In  the  novelty  of  my  sur 
roundings  the  time  passed  unheeded,  and  I  was  much 
surprised  when  the  gray  shadows  of  evening  closed  sud 
denly  around  me.  I  was  in  the  upper  part  of  the  city, 
far  from  the  river ;  but  in  alarm,  I  set  my  face  in  the 
direction  in  which  I  supposed  it  lay.  Very  quickly  the 
city  became  enshrouded  in  partial  darkness,  and  the  gleam- 
ings  of  the  lamps,  far  removed  from  each  other,  gave  it,  in 
my  eyes,  only  a  more  weird  and  ghostly  aspect.  The 
street  in  which  I  was,  contained  only  dwelling-houses,  and 
was  almost  deserted  by  pedestrians.  My  heart  beat  fast 
with  terror.  Where  was  I  to  find  shelter  for  the  night? 


ALDEANE.  251 

This  was  the  one  engrossing  thought  of  my  mind.  I  wan 
dered  aimlessly  on,  until  at  last,  benumbed  with  cold,  my 
limbs  failed  me,  and  I  sank  down  upon  a  doorstep,  the 
bitterest  tears  I  ever  shed  in  my  life  forcing  their  way 
down  my  cheeks.  As  I  sat  there  sobbing  out  my  heart's 
agony,  I  wished  myself  again  in  servitude,  anywhere, 
rather  than  there  alone  in  the  great  city,  where  loneliness 
is  most  keenly  felt,  and  destitution  the  least  pitied. 

"  I  had  been  wandering  since  early  morning,  and  had 
eaten  nothing.  Hunger  now  came  with  full  forpe  upon 
me ;  I  was  very  cold  too,  and  my  frame  shook  painfully 
with  every  gust  of  wind  that  swept  through  the  silent 
street.  I  put  my  hand  in  one  of  my  pockets  to  get  my 
money,  thinking  that  I  would  try  to  walk  a  little  far 
ther,  to  get  food  and  lodging  for  that  one  night  at  least. 
With  a  feeling  of  horror  that  I  can  not  describe,  I  dis 
covered  that  my  little  treasure  was  gone !  gone !  and  I 
was  alone,  without  knowledge,  money,  or  friends.  My 
tears  ceased  to  flow  from  very  excess  of  horror  and  grief. 
Oh !  the  hour  of  anguish  that  followed,  when,  shivering 
with  cold,  feeling  the  direst  pangs  of  hunger  and  desola 
tion,  I  sat  upon  the  cold  doorstep !  I  even  moaned  aloud 
in  my  distress ;  but  though  persons  occasionally  passed 
by,  they  did  not  seem  to  heed  me.  Snow  had  begun  to 
fall  in  large  white  flakes,  and  as  I  watched  them  slowly 
descend  they  seemed  devoid  of  all  beauty,  and  I  thought 
of  them  only  as  the  chilly  covering  of  the  night  that 
would  rest  upon. me  an  inanimate  corpse  in  the  morning. 
At  last,  benumbed  with  cold,  and  very  weary,  I  fell  asleep, 
and  dreamed  of  those  I  had  left  in  bondage,  and  of  her 
who  had  given  to  my  life  all  its  bitterness.  I  dreamed 
of  revenge ;  then  that  I  was  again  in  the  power  of  my 
hated  mistress.  Her  hands  were  grasping  me  tightly, 
and  I  was  struggling  with  her  madly,  when  I  awoke,  to 
find  a  heavy  hand  upon  my  shoulder  shaking  me  heartily. 
A  glare  of  light  fell  over  me,  and  the  steps  and  pavement 


252  ALDEANE. 

upon  which  I  lay,  causing  the  snow — which  had  fallen  to 
the  depth  of  an  inch — to  glisten  like  silver. 

" '  Come,  my  lad,'  said  a  voice,  '  this  is  a  pretty  cold 
bed — on  such  a  night  as  this  is,  too.' 

"  I  muttered  something  inarticulately,  and  endeavored 
to  rise,  but  overcome  with  sleep  and  cold,  sank  back 
again.  I  was  not  permitted,  however,  to  lie  there.  I 
heard  the  muttered  words :  '  'Tis  a  bitter  night — the  boy 
will  freeze  !'  Then  I  was  lifted  in  strong  arms,  and  still 
half  unqpnscious,  carried  into  the  place  whence  the  bright 
light  emanated.  It  was  the  hall  of  a  large  and  handsome 
dwelling.  Laying  me  down  upon  the  rug  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  my  new-found  friend  shut  the  heavy  door 
softy,  and  returned  to  my  side. 

"  'How  ragged !'  he  murmured ;  ' but  handsome  enough 
to  dress  in  velvet,  and  tread  on  flowers !  I  wonder  who 
he  is  ?  A  stranger  here,  I'll  warrant.  He  has  a  different 
look  from  boys  upon  town.  What  shall  I  do  with  him  ? 
There'll  be  a  pretty  commotion  if  'tis  known  that  I've 
brought  a  poor  lad  like  this  into  this  aristocratic  house. 
He  can't  walk,  that  is  certain.  He  is  scarcely  conscious. 
He  is  heavy,  but  I'll  carry  him  up  myself.  I  like  the 
face.' 

"  Stooping  down,  he  lifted  me  in  his  arms,  and  carried 
me  up-stairs  into  a  dimly-lighted  apartment,  and  laid  me 
upon  a  sofa.  He  turned  on  the  gas,  and  presently  came 
back  to  me,  and  poured  a  little  wine  down  my  throat ; 
its  genial  glow  restored  me  fully  to  consciousness,  and 
the  warmth  of  the  room  animated  my  body.  At  the 
return  of  strength,  I  raised  myself  upon  my  elbow ;  my 
friend  placed  his  hand  upon  my  brow  and  gently  forced 
me  back  again ;  my  whole  heart  found  vent  in  my  first 
words :  *  You  have  saved  my  life,  sir  !' 

"'Perhaps  so!'  he  replied,  a  smile  passing  over  his 
benevolent  countenance,  '  but  you  must  not  talk  now ; 
but  rise  and  sit  in  this  chair  a  moment.' 


ALDEANE.  253 

"  I  obeyed  him,  but  was  so  weak  that  I  tottered  rather 
than  walked  to  the  place  designated.  Fixing  my  eyes 
upon  my  friend,  I  watched  him  as  he  moved  about  the 
room. 

"  He  was  in  the  prime  of  life ;  a  tall,  muscular  man, 
with  a  strikingly  handsome  face ;  his  bright  blue  eyes 
shone  with  kindliness,  and  every  expression  beamed 
with  sympathy.  I  thought  at  the  time  that  I  had  never 
seen  such  a  beautiful  countenance  ;  and  now  I  can  truly 
say,  I  never  knew  one  to  fulfill  so  nearly  my  ideal  of 
sympathy  and  manly  grace.  The  light  brown  hair  was 
sprinkled  slightly  with  gray  and  clustered  heavily  over 
the  square  forehead,  giving  him  an  appearance  of  firmness 
almost  stern.  A  smile  of  strange,  womanly  sweetness 
rested  upon  his  lips,  and  seemed  to  linger  in  the  calm 
eyes  that  he  at  length  fixed  upon  me.  He  had  busied 
himself  in  making  a  bed  upon  the  sofa,  and  when  the 
task  was  completed,  said: — 

" '  Come,  you  can  rest  here  now,  and  talk  in  the 
morning.' 

"  A  sweet  dreamy  sense  of  repose  stole  over  me,  as  1 
sunk  upon  the  soft  cushions  he  had  so  comfortably 
arranged  for  me.  Soon  to  my  vision  the  objects  upon 
which  I  gazed  faded  like  shadows.  The  sound  made  by 
the  gentleman  as  he  moved  about  the  room  fell  faintly 
upon  my  dulled  ear,  and  at  last  with  a  consciousness  of 
perfect  security,  I  fell  asleep. 

"  The  bright  sunlight  was  streaming  into  the  apartment 
when  I  awoke,  revealing  splendors  before,  even  by  me, 
unthought  of.  A  rich  carpet  of  Tyrian  dyes  covered 
the  floor,  and  curtains  of  heavy  damask  and  cloudlike 
lace  huug  before  the  windows.  The  bureau  and  tables 
were  of  rosewood,  marble-topped,  and  strewn  with  beau 
tiful  and  costly  articles.  I  was  dazzled  by  the  sight, 
so  different  from  my  ideal  of  beauty — Grassmere — that 
for  some  moments  I  could  but  gaze  on  all  this  mas;mn- 


254:  ALDEANE. 

cence,  fearing  to  speak,  lest  it  should  prove  a  dream, 
and  vanish  at  a  word.  My  host  was  breakfasting,  and 
also  reading  the  morning  paper,  in  which  he  was  so 
deeply  engaged  that  I  was  unnoticed.  I  was  ashamed 
to  put  on  my  ragged  and  dirty  clothes,  but,  as  I  had  no 
others  I  did  so,  and  went  and  stood  timidly  before  the  fire. 
My  entertainer  looked  at  me  with  a  glance  of  interest 
and  compassion,  and  rising  from  his  chair  motioned  me 
to  take  it.  I  did  so.  He  seated  himself  by  the  fire, 
placed  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  and  for  some  time 
regarded  me  in  silence. 

"  '  Who  are  you  ?'  he  at  last  inquired  abruptly. 

"  I  was  startled  by  the  question,  hesitated  a  moment, 
then  told  him  my  true  name. 

" '  Where  did  you  come  from  ?' 

"  '  North  Carolina,  sir.' 

" '  Indeed !  Why  did  you  leave  there !  Tell  me  all 
about  it.' 

"  I  remained  for  some  minutes  silent,  hesitating  between 
truth  and  falsehood.  I  at  first  thought  that  I  would 
answer  his  questions  in  the  same  manner  that  I  had  those 
of  Uncle  Dick,  but  I  knew  that  I  had  a  man  of  mind  to 
deal  with,  one  that  could  not  readily  be  deceived; 
besides,  I  was  deeply  grateful  to  him  for  the  kindness 
he  had  shown  me.  The  snow  lay  thick  in  the  streets, 
and  upon  the  housetops,  and  I  felt  that,  but  for  him,  it 
might  then  have  been  my  winding-sheet.  I  had  sworn 
that  no  man  should  ever  know  the  story  of  my  birth, 
but  him  I  could  not  deceive.  So  burying  my  face  in 
my  hands,  for  I  felt,  like  a  blighting  curse,  the  stigma 
resting  upon  me,  I  told  him  all,  in  a  few  hurried  sen 
tences  ;  then  awaited  with  terror  and  despair  my  sentence, 
'  to  depart,'  for  I  felt  that  it  would  surely  come,  and 
that  I  should  again  become  an  outcast.  I  had  tasted  of 
warmth  and  comfort,  only  to  drink  the  more  deeply  of 
utter  destitution. 


ALDEANE.  255 

"  I  felt — I  could  not  look  at  him — that  he  was  exceed 
ingly  astonished,  and  was  prepared  for  violent  exclama 
tions  and  denunciations — but  not  for  the  silence  that 
followed  my  words.  I  looked  up  timidly,  and  saw  him 
rise  and  pace  the  floor  in  deep  thought.  I  watched  him 
closely ;  not  a  movement  or  change  of  expression  escaped 
my  notice,  but  I  could  read  nothing  of  my  fate  upon  his 
calm  features. 

"  *  Have  you  told  me  all  the  truth  ?'  he  inquired,  at 
last. 

"'Yes,  sir,  all." 

"  '  Then  I  will  not  desert  you !' 

"  How  my  heart  throbbed  at  the  words.  A  tide  of 
tumultuous  joy  rushed  over  my  soul,  and  I  burst  into 
tears,  weeping  silently  for  a  time;  then,  in  broken 
sentences  strove  to  express  my  gratitude. 

" '  We  must  do  something  to  alter  your  appearance  a 
little,'  he  said,  striving  to  silence  me.  '  Here,  go  into 
the  other  room,  and  wash  yourself,  I  will  be  back 
presently.' 

"  He  seized  his  hat,  hastily  put  on  a  heavy  overcoat, 
and  left  the  room.  I  went  into  the  bath-room — that  he 
had  pointed  out — astonished  at  all  I  saw,  but  obeyed  his 
directions  implicitly,  and  when  my  friend  returned  I 
greeted  him,  feeling  intensely  happy ;  mind  as  well  as 
body  invigorated  by  the  bath  in  which  I  had  so  freely 
indulged. 

" '  You  will  find  a  suit  of  clothes,'  he  said,  handing  me 
a  parcel. 

"  I  opened  it,  and  found  every  article  necessary  for  a 
complete  toilet.  I  was  soon  dressed,  and  surveyed  my 
self  with  some  pride  in  the  large  mirror.  My  suit  of  plain 
black  fitting  admirably,  showing  my  figure  to  full 
advantage;  and  though  my  long  curls  fell  over  my 
broad  white  collar,  they  were  smooth  and  glossy,  and 
had  lost  much  of  their  elfish  appearance. 


256  ALDEANE. 

"  '  They  must  be  cut  off !'  said  my  friend,  as  he  glanced 
at  me  approvingly.  '  You  will  do  then,  I  think.  A 
few  weeks  will  round  your  cheeks  again,  though  they  are 
very  thin  and  sallow  now.  Come,  what  is  your  name  ? 
I  have  forgotten — we  will  go  to  a  barber  now.' 

"  In  a  few  minutes  we  were  upon  the  street.  I  could 
think  of  nothing  but  the  events  that  had  taken  place 
since  last  I  trod  them.  I  had  fallen  into  a  deep  reverie 
when  my  companion  again  asked,  '  What  is  your  name  ? 
Did  I  not  tell  you  that  I  had  forgotten  ?' 

" '  Oh,  sir !'  I  said,  '  do  not  remind  me  again  that  I 
have  been  a  slave  !  Call  me  any  thing  you  wish  ;  but  I 
can  not  longer  bear  the  name  that  I  so  utterly  abhor  !' 

"  He  seemed  surprised  at  my  vehemence.  '  Your  wish 
shall  be  gratified,'  he  replied,  'it  would  be  no  longer 
safe  for  you  to  be  known  by  your  own  name.  You  may 
take  mine — it  is  Raymond — and  place  George  before  it  if 
it  suits  you.' 

"  '  It  will  do  excellently,  sir  !' 

"  Thus  did  I  obtain  the  name  that  I  am  now  known  by. 
On  our  return  to  the  boarding-house^  he  informed  me 
that  he  was  a  merchant,  residing  in  Toronto,  was  a 
bachelor  and  rich,  and  that  he  would  educate  and  pro 
vide  for  me,  if  I  would  promise  to  remain  with  him,  to 
comfort  his  old  age.  '  Call  me  Uncle,'  he  said  in  con 
clusion,  '  and  treat  me  as  a  son  should  do,  and  I  will 
prove  a  father  to  you.' 

"  I  attempted  to  express  my  gratitude  but  only  feebly 
succeeded.  '  I  have  met  with  so  many  kind  friends,'  I 
at  last  exclaimed,  'how  dearly  I  wish  that  I  could  in 
some  way  reward  them  all,  but  my  obligations  to  you 
can  never  be  canceled !' 

"  '  Never  mind  that !  your  love  and  obedience  are  all  I 
want.  Some  more  substantial  proof  of  your  gratitude, 
might  however  be  acceptable  to  some  of  your  humbler 
friends.' 


ALDEANE.  257 

"  I  thought  so  too,  but  as  I  had  nothing  in  my  posses 
sion  that  I  could  give  them,  I  said  nothing.  Mr.  Ray 
mond  seemed  weary,  and  said  no  more.  I  could  not  sleep 
during  the  whole  night,  so  much  was  my  mind  engrossed 
by  the  fortune  that  had  befallen  me.  I  could  scarcely 
credit  my  senses,  all  seemed  so  strange  and  improbable 
to  me.  The  evidences  of  truth  however,  were  not  want 
ing,  and  with  a  spirit  of  exquisite  happiness  I  greeted  the 
light  of  morning.  Immediately  after  breakfast  Mr.  Ray 
mond  opened  his  desk,  placed  some  paper  upon  it,  and 
bade  me  write  a  note  to  old  Uncle  Dick.  '  And  you  may 
inclose  this,'  he  said,  giving  me  a  paper.  I  opened  it 
and  found  a  check  for  five  hundred  dollars. 

"  '  But,  sir  !'  I  exclaimed,  in  surprise,  '  this  is  far  too 
much — a  fortune  to  them.' 

"  '  Perhaps  so,  George,  but  not  much  to  me.  Make  haste, 
I  want  to  go  down  to  the  docks  to  find  the  little  sloop 
you  came  in.  We  can  send  this  letter  by  Field ;  it  is  not 
likely  that  he  has  sailed  yet.' 

"  In  a  few  minutes  we  were  upon  the  street,  and  in  a 
much  shorter  time  than  I  could  have  thought  possible, 
were  by  the  river.  Mr.  Raymond's  knowledge  of  ship 
ping  led  us  directly  to  the  right  spot,  and  we  were  soon 
upon  the  deck  of  the  little  vessel  that  had  bnnight  me 
from  the  land  of  slavery  and  degradation  to  that  of  free 
dom  and  prosperity.  Xone  of  the  crew  recognized  me. 
Even  Field  passed  me  by.  I  called  his  name  ;  he  knew 
my  voice  and  looked  at  me  in  the  greatest  surprise. 

"  '  This  is  the  relative  that  I  spoke  of,'  I  said,  pointing 
to  Mr.  Raymond.  *  You  see  he  took  me  in.' 

"Mr.  Raymond  thanked  him  for  bringing  me,  as  if  I 
was  indeed  a  beloved  relative.  Recovering  the  power  of 
speech,  of  which  surprise  had  for  a  time  bereft  him,  the 
honest  sailor  replied  in  broken  exclamations  of  wonder 
and  delight : — 

" '  The  schooner  will  move  off  in  a  few  moment?,'  he 


258  ALDEANE. 

presently  exclaimed,  as  a  loud  call  from  the  mate  sum 
moned  him  to  his  duty. 

"  '  Give  this  letter  to  Uncle  Dick,  and  may  God  bless 
you  forever,  Field  !'  I  said,  shaking  hands  with  him. 

"  Mr.  Raymond  performed  the  same  ceremony,  and 
I  caught  a  glimpse  of  several  large  pieces  of  gold  left  in 
the  sailor's  open  palm.  He  whistled  slightly,  dropped 
the  money  piece  by  piece  into  his  pocket,  turned  away 
at  a  second  summons  from  the  mate,  saying,  '  I'll  drink 
your  health  with  that,  sir !'  and  sprang  into  the  rigging 
while  we  hastily  left  the  vessel,  and  my  friend  Field  for 
ever.  Athough  I  have  often  wandered  along  the  docks 
of  New  York,  hoping  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  them,  I  have 
never  done  so ;  and  perhaps  long  ere  this  both  ship  and 
sailor  may  have  stranded  on  the  dark  shores  of  eternity. 

"  We  remained  in  New  York  a  week  longer,  and  then 
Uncle  Walter,  as  he  bade  me  call  him,  took  me  to  his  beauti 
ful  home  in  Toronto.  An  old  housekeeper  and  several  ser 
vants  formed  his  household.  All  seemed  to  have  been  in 
his  service  some  time,  for  they  were  accustomed  to  antici 
pate  all  his  wishes,  and  to  perform  them  with  alacrity, 
also  to  respect  the  many  whims  and  eccentricities  that 
his  bachelor  life  had  given  him.  In  some  way,  the  idea 
became  prevalent  that  I  was  Mr.  Raymond's  brother's 
child,  and  was  treated  with  the  respect  due  to  the  nephew 
of  so  wealthy  and  worthy  a  citizen.  A  tutor  was  pro 
cured  for  me,  and  under  his  instruction  I  acquired  an 
insight  into  the  various  branches  of  knowledge  that  con 
stitute  a  classical  education.  For  several  -years  I  was 
thus  happily  employed,  and  was  as  contented  as  the 
many  wrongs  which  still  remained  unavenged  would 
allow  me  to  be.  I  had  not  forgotten  my  oaths  of  ven 
geance — and,  after  the  novelty  of  my  situation  had  worn 
away,  I  took  a  grim  delight  in  picturing  to  myself  how 
I  would  bring  my  persecutors  in  shame  to  the  grave, 
while  I  would  revel  in  the  glorious  delights  of  gratified 


ALDEANE.  259 

revenge.  These  thoughts  never  left  me,  but  became  dearer 
to  me  as  I  approached  manhood.  I  seldom  spoke  of  them 
to  Uncle  Walter,  but  gloated  over  them  in  secret,  until  they 
became  a  part  of  my  very  being.  You  will  shudder, 
Aldeane,  as  you  read  this,  and  well  you  may,  for  this  foul 
spot  in  my  soul  can  never  be  cleansed  until  my  vengeance 
is  completed.  It  is  already  begun — the  consummation  is 
near.  I  know  you  would  say  that  I  am  infatuated — led 
on  by  the  Evil  One  !  but  I  can  not  believe  it  to  be  so. 
Did  not  fate  place  directly  in  my  way  the  object  by 
which  I  could  wreck  my  hatred,  and  point  out  the  very 
quick  in  the  heart  of  my  adversary  ?  By  giving  life  to 
my  own  heart,  I  portion  out  a  bitter  existence  to  him.  In 
this  I  exult.  Yes  !  yes !  I  believe  alone  in  the  law — 
'  An  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a  tooth.' 

"  Some  three  years  ago  my  guardian  died,  leaving  me 
his  sole  heir.  I  was  overcome  with  grief  at  his  death, 
and  felt  but  little  inclination  for  any  species  of  pleasure. 
He  had,  however,  arranged  with  the  elder  Mr.  Morgan 
that  I  should  make  the  grand  tour  with  his  son ;  and, 
therefore,  when  Frederic  left  for  Europe  I  reluctantly 
accompanied  him,  and  of  course  during  our  long  associa 
tion  formed  a  friendship  for  him  which  materially  lessened 
the  desolation,  if  not  the  grief  I  felt  at  the  loss  of  my 
guardian. 

"  But  wherever  I  went,  and  whatever  I  did,  my  desire 
for  revenge  grew  stronger  with  every  breath  I  drew,  and 
was  unconsciously  daily  held  before  me  by  Morgan  in 
his  frequent  conversation  concerning  the  family  of  the 
man  I  hated,  more  especially  by  his  encomiums  upon  the 
child  of  the  hated  Lucinda  Arendell — the  gentle  Leonore. 
I  said,  then,  in  my  heart,  this  shall  be  my  revenge — 
she  shall  be  my  wife — and  when  I  saw  her  a  few  months 
later  at  Morgan's  wedding,  I  swore  it.  Here  I  met  my 
old  master,  his  amiable  wife,  and  lovely  daughter.  I 
laughed  as  I  thought  how  I  would  torture  his  unsuspecting 


260  ALDEANE. 

heart  ere  he  should  again  escape  me.  I  would  marry  his 
daughter,  and  afterward  disclose  to  him  the  whole  truth. 
I  reveled  in  the  thought,  and  proceeded  carefully  to 
ward  its  realization.  I  soon  discovered  that  I  possessed 
a  sort  of  weird  power  over  Leonore,  and  I  wielded  it 
rigidly,  rejoicing  to  see  her  casting  all  the  boxindless 
wealth  of  her  love  upon  me.  I  believed  myself  proof 
against  all  fascinations  ;  what  then  was  my  surprise  when 
I  found  that  she  had  enthralled  my  heart,  and  that  I 
loved  her  with  all  the  deep  passionate  earnestness  of  my 
nature.  A  desperate  struggle  between  love  and  hate 
followed — and  love  triumphed.  I  could  forego  all  my 
cherished  plans  of  vengeance,  rather  than  give  sorrow  to 
one  so  perfect  in  every  attribute  of  goodness  and  beauty 
as  Leonore.  I  determined  to  remain  no  longer  with  her, 
lest  my  resolution  should  falter,  or  her  affections  be 
centered  too  deeply  in  me  to  be  removed.  I  saw  her 
cheeks  pale,  and  her  bosom  heave  tumultuously  as  I  left 
her.  I  saw  her  grief,  but  she  knew  nothing  of  the  de 
spair  that  filled  my  own  heart. 

"  I  returned  to  Toronto ;  then,  restless  and  despairing, 
sought  relief  again  in  travel.     I  went  to  New  York,  and 

O  O  7 

almost  the  first  persons  I  saw  were  those  from  whom  I 
had  fled.  My  destiny  to  me  was  plain — my  vengeance 
was  at  any  rate  to  be  satisfied.  Leonore  was  pale,  and 
drooping :  my  presence  gave  a  glow  to  her  cheek  and 
life  to  her  heart.  To  leave  her  again  would  be  worse 
than  death  to  both.  I  could  not  tear  myself  away  and 
see  her  die  ;  for  you  have  heard  tnith  in  these  lines  : 

'  Alas !  the  love  of  woman,  it  is  known 

To  be  a  lovely  and  a  fearful  thing. 
For  all  of  hers  upon  that  die  is  thrown, 

And  if  'tis  lost,  life  has  no  more  to  bring — 
To  her — but  mockings  of  the  past  alone  I' 

"  You  know  my  story  now.     In  marrying  Leonore,  I 
shall  find  that  happiness  that  else  I  can  never  know.     Her 


ALDEANE,  261 

presence  will  purify  the  plague-spot  of  my  existence. 
I — in  one  word — shall  be  avenged.  The  father,  who  now 
glories  in  his  beautiful  daughter,  and  revels  in  fancied  se 
curity,  shall  know  that  his  rich  and  aristocratic  son-in- 
law  was  once  his  despised  slave.  Leonore  shall  know 
nothing  of  this.  He  will  not  dare  tell  her,  and  the  secret, 
aggravated  by  the  sight  of  her  happiness  with  me — with 
me — and  the  necessity  that  he  shall  be  under  of  extend 
ing  his  hospitality  and  homage  to  me,  shall  gall  and  fret 
his  life  away." 

Thus,  as  abruptly  as  it  had  begun,  ended  the  record  of 
a  life,  which  Aldeane  had  herself  seen  closed,  without  one 
aspiration,  without  one  hope  of  vengeance  realized.  But 
alas,  and  alas !  the  retribution  had  come  upon  the  ene 
mies  of  the  slave  Junius,  when  it  could  give  to  him  no 
glow  of  savage  pleasure.  "  And,  O  God !"  cried  Aldeane, 
"  when  will  this  terrible  retribution  end  ?"  and,  with  a 
vision  before  her  of  the  stricken  Leonore  and  her  half- 
demented  father,  she  bent  her  face  upon  her  hands  and 
wept  bitterly. 

And  she  did  not  see  then,  nor  for  months  later,  why 
Raymond  had  written  this  tale  for  her.  But  she  was 
glad,  amid  all  her  grief,  that  he  had  written  it,  that  he 
had  given  some  excuse,  however  weak  it  might  in  reality 
be,  for  that  deep  plot  which  bade  fair  to  render  Arendell 
House  as  desolate  as  had  been  for  years  the  mansion  at 
Grassmere. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THE   DROOPING   FLOWER. 

IMMEDIATELY  after  the  funeral,  Mr.  Blake  communica 
ted  the  sad  news  of  George  Raymond's  death  to  Mr. 
Pierce,  the  senior  partner  of  the  firm  of  which  the 
deceased  had  been  a  member.  As  quickly  as  possible  he 
replied  in  person  to  the  message. 

He  seemed  deeply  to  lament  the  early  death  of  hia 
friend — and  though  he  was  greatly  shocked  and  surprised 
at  the  discovery  of  his  plebeian  birth,  it  seemed  in  no  de 
gree  to  lessen  his  regai'd  for  him.  Colonel  Arendell  was 
by  this  time  convalescent.  He  had  been  very  near  the 
grave,  but  was  again  raised  to  life,  though  it  was  feeble, 
and  every  slight  excitement  seemed  almost  to  extinguish 
the  flickering  flame.  He  could  not  for  a  moment  forget 
or  forgive  the  revenge  that  Raymond  was  about  to  visit 
upon  him.  The  condolence  of  friends  irritated  him 
severely — for  he  felt  that  his  name  would  ever  be  used  in 
connection  with  that  of  the  renegade  slave — who  had 
thrown  a  stain  upon  it  forever.  It  was  indeed  with  diffi 
culty  that  he  restrained  himself  from  speaking  of  it  in  the 
presence  of  Leonore — who  still  remained  in  ignorance  of  it. 
By  some  kind  instinct,  as  well  as  by  their  mistress's 
commands,  the  slaves  were  silent  concerning  Raymond  in 
her  presence,  and  she  never  mentioned  him,  hiding  the 
memory  of  her  love  deep  in  her  pure  heart — where  it  was 
far  from  the  gaze  of  others — while  it  held  a  strong  sway 
over  every  emotion  of  her  gentle  nature — purifying 
all  her  thoughts,  and  etherealizing  all  her  aspirations. 


ALDEANE.  263 

Mr.  Pierce  looked  sadly  upon  the  young  mourner — and 
stricken  father.  But  for  her  his  heart  sorrowed  most 
deeply.  He  saw  that  her  life  was  darkened,  and  feared 
that  it  would  soon  pass  away.  On  her  pale,  serene  face 
he  saw  shadowed  forth  the  deep  despair  that  shrouded 
her  soul.  In  the  weary  movements  of  her  body,  were 
plainly  visible  the  lassitude  of  the  mind;  and  in  the 
unchanging  gloom  of  her  deep-brown  eyes  was  revealed 
the  despondency  and  inaction  of  her  spirit.  She  seemed 
indeed  to  await  calmly  and  hopefully  the  approach  of 
death,  for  she  had  already  said  to  Aldeane  "  I  shall  soon 
die.  The  vital  cord  that  holds  my  soul  to  this  frail 
body  was  always  slender.  The  shock  of  George's  death 
nearly  severed  it ;  disease  will  soon  perform  the  rest.  Con 
sumption — the  heir-loom  of  my  race — long  ago  laid  his 
hand  upon  me.  I  used  to  fear  his  coming,  but  now  I  can 
contemplate  it  without  a  pang  or  shudder." 

Aldeane  felt  that  this  was  true.  Yet  she  endeavored 
to  arouse  her  from  the  apathy  into  which  she  had  fallen. 
But  that  seemed  a  hopeless  task.  Mr.  Pierce's  arrival 
did  for  a  time  bring  back  some  slight  animation  to  her 
being ;  for  she  felt  that  he  had  come  for  the  body  of  her 
beloved,  and  that  she  could  not  let  it  be  taken  from  the 
place  where  she  hoped  ere  long  also  to  repose.  As  she 
one  day  sat  alone  in  the  library  thinking  of  this,  she 
could  but  cry,  "  It  shall  not  be ;  it  shall  not  be !"  with 
out  knowing  how,  in  any  way,  she  could  prevent  it. 

Mr.  Pierce  entered  the  room  in  search  of  a  paper ;  upon 
seeing  her  he  turned  to  leave,  but  she  asked  him  to 
remain ;  and  drawing  a  chair  near  her,  he  awaited  her 
pleasure. 

For  some  moments  she  remained  silent,  while  Mr. 
Pierce  sorrowfully  regarded  her.  At  last  she  said  trem 
ulously  : — 

"  Mr.  Pierce,  must  you  take  him  away  ?" 

He  was  for  a  moment  startled  by  this  abrupt  question, 


264:  ALDEANE. 

but  presently  replied :  "  Such  are  my  instructions,  Miss 
ArendelL" 

"  I  won't  let  him  go !  Indeed,  I  can  not !"  she  ex 
claimed  quickly,  twining  her  hands  nervously  together. 
"  Am  I  not  his  wife  ?  He  shall  stay  with  me !" 

"Pray  don't  excite  yourself,"  returned  Mr.  Pierce, 
soothingly.  "Yoxi  have  indeed  a  just  right  to  claim  the 
body  of  our  lamented  friend.  Still  Mr.  Edward  Raymond 
desired  that  every  honor  should  be  paid  him,  and  for 
that  purpose  wished  him  to  be  interred  in  Canada." 

"  Who  is  this  Mr.  Edward  Raymond  ?  I  never  heard 
of  him  before." 

"  He  is  a  distant  relative  of  the  late  Walter  Raymond, 
quite  an  old  man,  and  immensely  rich.  For  some  reason 
he  has  not  been  friendly  with  Mr.  Raymond  for  years. 
But  now  he  seems  to  have  forgotten  every  cause  for 
anger,  if  any  ever  existed,  and  to  desire  every  attention 
to  be  paid  to  the  remains  of  him  who  has  for  so  long 
stood  between  him  and  a  vast  estate.  I  act  altogether 
under  his  directions." 

"  Mr.  Pierce,"  replied  Leonore,  "  I  know  that  you  are 
kind.  You  would  not  voluntarily  trample  upon  a  heart, 
bruised  and  bleeding  as  mine  is.  You  do  not  guess  the 
extent  of  my  sufferings,  and  I  know  that  they  will  soon 
be  past.  All  that  I  desire  on  earth,  is  the  simple  privi 
lege  of  being  allowed  to  rest  by  the  side  of  Raymond,  in 
the  grave-yard  at  Loring.  Can  you  deny  me  that  little 
consolation  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  deep  pity. 

"  You  know  that  I  am  dying,"  she  continued,  wistfully. 

He  could  not  deny  the  assertion.  He  took  her  hand 
tenderly,  and  said  huskily,  "  Give  me  your  commands, 
and  I  will  obey  them  spite  of  all  previous  orders." 

"  Ah  !  thank  you  !  thank  you  !"  murmured  Leonore. 
"  You  will  then  allow  George  to  remain  here.  Oh ,  it 
would  be  worse  than  death  to  see  him  taken  away ! 


ALDEANE.  265 

Death !  death  !"  she  repeated  in  a  low  voice.  "  It  has 
no  sting  for  me." 

"  Do  not  speak  so,  my  dear  Miss  Arendell !"  cried  Mr.. 
Pierce,  greatly  agitated.  "  All  shall  be  as  you  wish.  I 
am  certain  that  Mr.  Edward  Raymond  would  not  wish 
me  to  act  contrary  to  your  wishes.  At  any  rate  they 
are  sacred  to  me ;  and  I  will  not." 

Leonore  silently  pressed  his  hand  and,  after  a  moment's 
silence,  said :  "  I  shall  never  forget  your  kindness ;  and  I 
believe  that  you  will  never  regret  it." 

They  were  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  when  rising  to  de 
part  Mr.  Pierce  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  May  God  assuage 
your  grief;  may  you  live  to  comfort  your  father  in  his 
afflictions !" 

"  That  can  not  be,"  she  answered,  in  a  trembling  voice. 
"  I  have  heard  my  summons.  I  shall  soon  go  home." 
She  sighed  wearily,  and  added : — "  I  long  to  go  and  be  at 
rest  with  him." 

" '  Tis  sad,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Pierce  in  a  voice  of  deep 
emotion,  "  to  liear  one  so  young  and  beautiful  speak  thus 
calmly  of  death.  Can  you  not  arouse  yourself!  Think 
of  life.  Look  at  it  as  a  state  of  calm  happiness.  No 
storms  would  ever  approach  you  to  disturb  your  tran 
quillity.  Your  many  friends  would  ward  them  off.  In 
ministering  to  the  wants  of  others  you  may  yet  be  happy 
or  at  least  contented." 

"  The  storm  that  killed  George  swept  from  my  view 
all  joys  and  pleasures,  and  from  my  heart  all  its  aspira 
tions,"  she  answered,  simply.  "The  winds  of  cruel  mis 
fortune  have  borne  from  my  soul  all  its  beauty.  Upon 
that  arid  desert  the  flowers  of  love  and  hope  can  never 
bloom  again.  Oh,  I  long  to  die  and  be  with  him.  Earth 
has  no  home  for  me  !"  A  few  tears  strayed  over  her  pale 
cheeks,  and  fell  upon  the  little  white  hands  twining  them 
selves  so  nervously  together  in  her  lap.  "  Do  you  think 
those  thoughts  so  very  wicked?  Indeed,  I  can  not  ban- 
12 


266  ALDEANE. 

ish  them  !"  she   said,  hopelessly,  glancing  up  with  an 
expression  touching  from  its  childish  pitifulness. 
.    The  strong  man  before  her  bent  his  head,  and  wept  like 
a  little  child. 

"  I  will  go  now,"  he  presently  said,  very  sorrowfully. 
"  Miss  Arendell,  I  will  go  forever ;  my  presence,  I  am 
sure,  must  give  additional  gloom  to  your  thoughts.  I 
will  only  have  a  suitable  tombstone  erected,  and  then  I 
will  leave  you  alone  to  your  sacred  grief." 

Leonore  pressed  his  hand  over  her  heart  quickly,  while 
a  spasm  of  agony  for  a  moment  contracted  her  features. 
Mr.  Pierce  looked  at  her  in  alarm.  "It  is  nothing,"  she 
replied,  answering  his  look  of  inquiry.  "  Bear  with  me 
one  moment  longer." 

He  sat  down  beside  her,  and  begged  her  to  proceed. 

"  You  know  I  often  go  to  George's  grave,"  she  said,  soft 
ly.  "  You  know  how  sweet  a  place  it  is.  I  would  not  see  it 
changed.  Wait  until  another  hillock  rises  beside  his,  then 
two  marble  slabs  shall  mark  the  place  where  we  repose. 
Let  not  the  sacred  ground  be  touched  till  then.  Choose 
for  us  both  monuments,  and  let  them  be  erected  to 
gether." 

Mr.  Pierce  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"  It  will  not  be  long  !"  she  pleaded.  "  Oh !  how  could 
I  bear  to  see  his  name  there  alone !  and  read  each  time 
I  go  there  the  record  of  that  death  that  is  written  upon 
my  heart  in  words  of  fire  !" 

"  Poor  child  !  poor  child  !  sorrow  has  given  you  strange 
thoughts,"  said  Mr.  Pierce. 

"  Let  him  rest !  let  him  rest !"  she  murmured,  entreat- 
ingly.  "  It  needs  no  marble  slab  to  point  out  to  me  the 
spot  wrhere  he  lies.  When  I,  too,  am  there  'twill  be  time 
enough  for  the  record  to  be  given  to  the  world." 

Bending  forward,  Mr.  Pierce  pressed  his  lips  upon  her 
pure  uplifted  brow,  whispered, "  All  shall  be  as  you  wrish," 
and  hastily  left  the  room. 


ALDEANE.  267 

Tears  blinded  his  eyes,  and  he  stumbled  over  Aldeane 
in  the  hall  before  he  saw  her. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Guthrie !"  he  said,  in  a  trem 
bling  voice. 

"  It  is  granted,  with  pleasure,"  she  replied,  glancing  at 
him  closely.  "  You  have  just  left  Leonore,  I  suppose?" 
she  added,  perceiving  his  agitation. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  with  a  sigh.  "  God  grant  that  I 
may  never  have  another  such  interview  with  any  one ! 
Walk  with  me  in  the  garden  a  few  minutes,  I  beg.  It 
has  completely  unmanned  me." 

Aldeane  took  his  arm,  and  they  turned  into  the  walk 
leading  to  the  great  oak-tree.  When  they  reached  it,  he 
Bat  down  on  the  ornamental  seat  at  its  base,  and  said, 
excitedly : — 

"  She  is  dying,  Miss  Guthrie !  dying,  I  say !" 

"  I  fear  so,  indeed !"  she  returned,  sadly. 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Mr.  Pierce,  emphatically.  "  I 
had  hoped  that  her  distress  was  but  the  natural  grief  that 
a  tender  young  girl  would  feel  at  the  death  of  her  lover. 
But  it  is  far  more,  far  more !  Raymond  possessed  not 
only  her  heart,  but  a  strong  influence  over  her  very  being. 
He  had  become  her  life,  the  support  of  her  existence; 
when  he  died — morally  speaking — she  died  also.  Scarce 
a  spark  of  life  animates  her  feeble  body,  and  her  mind  has 
lost  all  its  strength.  She  can  think  of  but  one  thing,  and 
that,  Death.  Nothing  seems  to  arouse  her." 

"And  do  you  think  that  she  will  soon  die?"  asked 
Aldeane,  weeping.  "  May  she  not  linger  even  for  years  ?" 

"  No  !  no  !"  he  answered,  sorrowfully.  "  If  Raymond 
had  lived,  she  might  have  been  spared,  for  the  excess  of 
her  love  for  him  would  have  made  her  happy,  and  that 
foul  specter  Consumption  might  have  sought  her  in  vain. 
It  is  not  that,  even  now,  that  is  killing  her." 

"Not  consumption?"  ejaculated  Aldeane. 

"  No,"   he   answered,  quietly.      "  She  is   dying  of  a 


268  ALDEANE. 

broken  heart.  You  may  all  call  it  consumption,  but  I 
say  that  she  would  have  lived  free  from  it  for  years  had 
not  sorrow  opened  the  way  for  its  approach,  and  tram 
pled  upon  her  heart  as  its  first  resting-place." 

"  And  do  you  think  that  she  would  have  been  happy 
if  George  Raymond  had  lived  ?" 

"  Yes.  She  would  have  trusted  him  so  implicitly, 
that  she  would  have  seen  all  his  better  qualities  only, 
and  by  her  influence  called  them  into  action;  his  strange 
spirit  would  have  been  quelled  by  her  gentleness, 
and  his  passions  calmed  by  her  love.  He,  perhaps, 
would  never  have  been  perfectly  happy.  His  was  too 
stormy  a  soul  to  know  aught  of  so  quiet  a  guest,  but  she 
wrould  have  rested  as  calmly  and  confidingly  upon  his 
bosom  as  the  moss  on  the  foaming  sea,  knowing  no  dan 
ger  and  fearing  none,  and  loving  implicitly  through  life, 
would  have  fallen  asleep,  smiling,  at  its  close." 

Aldeane  sighed  deeply,  then  burst  into  a  convulsive  fit 
of  weeping  that  agitated  her  fearfully.  This  was  so  un 
expected  that  Mr.  Pierce  could  but  gaze  upon  her  in 
grave  surprise.  Sobs  shook  her  frame,  and  the  few  tears 
that  strayed  over  her  cheeks  seemed  wrung  from  her  very 
heart.  It  was  not  often  that  Aldeane  wept,  but  when 
she  did  it  always  appeared  to  relieve  her  feelings.  Now 
it  had  a  contrary  effect.  Her  sobs  nearly  choked  her,  and 
her  heart  soemed  bursting  with  wild  pain. 

"I  can  not  understand  this,  Miss  Guthrie,"  said  Mr. 
Pierce  at  last,  in  a  low  voice.  "This  is  so  different  from 
your  usual  manner.  It  is  perfectly  incomprehensible." 

"  Ah,  if  you  knew  all !"  gasped  Aldeane.  "  If  you 
knew  all,  you  would  no  longer  wonder  at  me  !" 

"Tell  me  all,"  he  said  gently.  Aldeane  drew  away 
the  hand  that  he  had  grasped  in  his  earnestness.  "  For 
your  own  sake,"  he  added  reproachfully.  "  Do  I  de 
serve  this  distrust?  Can  you  not  place  confidence  in 


ALDEANE.  269 

"  I  have  never  tried  you,"  she  replied  simply.  "  But 
indeed,  Mr.  Pierce,  I  have  need  of  all  your  counsel  and 
sympathy  for  the  unhappy  part  I  took  in  the  unfortunate 
events  that  have  lately  transpired." 

"  Poor  child,"  said  Mr.  Pierce,  as  another  gush  of  wild 
sobbing  racked  her  frame.  "  I  pity  you,  indeed  !  I 
know  that  you  have  suffered,  and  do  still.  Tell  me  your 
griefs,  my  child.  Perhaps  I  can  soothe  you  a  little." 

When  partly  composed,  Aldeane  related  the  greater 
portion  of  the  memorable  conversation  that  she  had  held 
with  George  Raymond  a  few  days  before  his  death ; 
ending  with  the  bitter  cry,  "  Oh,  if  I  had  but  told  Colonel 
Areudell  all  I  suspected,  his  life  and  hers  might  have 
been  saved  !" 

"  Not  so,"  said  Mr.  Pierce,  after  a  few  moments'  thought, 
"  not  so.  Raymond  would  have  been  perfectly  furious, 
had  his  secret  been  betrayed.  No  one  knows  what  rash 
deed  he  might  have  been  led  to  commit.  He  might  have 
killed  Colonel  Arendell,  or  himself,  or  even  his  bride 
elect ;  for  you  say  yourself  that  his  reason  forsook  him, 
at  the  mention  of  his  wrongs,  whether  real  or  fancied. 

O       ' 

Think  what  a  blow  the  knowledge  of  his  birth  would 
have  been  to  Leonore.  His  death  has  shaken  her  reason, 
that  revelation  I  believe  would  have  dethroned  it  forever. 
Poor  drooping  lily,  it  will  soon  bloom  in  heaven !  You 
need  not  weep  over  your  reticence,  Miss  Aldeane,  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  even  worse  calamities  than  have 
already  befallen  the  family,  were  averted  by  it." 

Aldeane  was  slightly  comforted.  "If  she  could  be 
spared !"  she  murmured. 

"  The  fairest  flowers  are  those  fragile  ones  that  bloom 
and  die  in  spring-time,"  said  Mr.  Pierce,  musingly. 

"  Spring-time  !"  repeated  Aldeane,  shuddering. 
"  Spring-time  !  Ah,  how  dreary  a  one  this  has  been ! 
What  will  the  next  bring  forth  ?" 

Mr.  Pierce,  responded  in  low  tones : — 


270  ALDEANE. 

"  Another  little  grave  shall  be, 
Beneath  the  willow-tree, 
The  sun  shall  tinge  it,  with  its  gold, 
And  sweetest  flowers  shall  there  unfold." 


He  walked  slowly  away,  while  Aldeane  remained  to 
weep  more  calmly,  and  to  watch  with  agonized  solicitude 
a  little  white-robed  figure  that  was  sitting  at  one  of  the 
upper  windows,  looking  drearily,  and  with  an  air  of 
fixed  melancholy,  out  upon  the  scene  below.  Her  large 
brown  eyes  shone  strangely  out  from  the  mass  of  Avavy 
hair,  hanging  around  her  bloodless  cheeks.  An  expres 
sion  of  deep  pain  rested  on  her  lips,  while  one  of  calm 
resignation  gave  to  the  face  an  appearance  of  almost 
angelic  sweetness.  She  seemed  not  to  be  thinking,  but 
rather  as  if  patiently  waiting  for  some  one  to  come — 
one,  whose  form  she  could  never  more  hope  to  see ;  as  if 
listening  for  a  footstep  that  no  more  should  greet  her  long 
ing  ear.  She  was  twining  her  white  hands  together  in  a 
strange  nervous  manner  she  had  lately  assumed.  Sitting 
there  in  the  dying  light  of  the  day,  Leonore  Arendell 
seemed  indeed  but  a  wreck  of  her  former  self,  and  Al 
deane  once  more  wept  passionately,  crying  bitterly,  "  Oh, 
if  she  could  be  spared  !  if  she  could  be  spared !"  Look 
ing  up  after  such  an  outburst  of  grief,  she  perceived  that 
daylight  had  faded,  and  a  moonless  night  set  in.  Grop 
ing  her  way  back  to  the  house,  she  heard  her  name  called 
in  hurried  tones.  Mrs.  Arendell  met  her  in  the  hall,  and 
the  light  she  held  in  her  hand  revealed  Aldeane,  pale  and 
confused. 

"  Ah,  how  you  frightened  me  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Aren 
dell  with  a  start.  "  Where  have  you  been  ?  We  have 
been  seeking  you  ever  so  long." 

"  I  have  been  down  by  the  great  oak,"  she  replied  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  What !  so  near,  and  you  have  not  heard  us  calling 


ALDEANE.  271 

you  ?  There  are  a  couple  of  letters  for  you,  but  come 
into  tea  first." 

She  hastily  excused  herself,  and  taking  the  light  and 
letters,  ascended  to  her  room.  Putting  them  down  she 
sat  for  a  long  time  lost  in  thought.  At  last  raising  her 
eyes,  she  saw  the  superscription  of  one  of  the  letters.  It 
was  from  Arthur,  and  with  a  sigh  she  broke  the  seal. 

"  Dearest  Aldeane,"  it  commenced.  "  From  your 
letters  I  perceive  that  darkness  is  still  brooding  over 
Arendell  House  ;  and  I  fear  is  enshrouding  you  all  too 
closely.  I  wish  I  could  prevail  upon  you  to  come  North  ; 
for  I  believe  you  can  do  no  one  any  good,  and  yourself 
much  harm,  by  remaining  South.  I  know  that  your  pres 
ence  must  be  a  great  comfort  to  your  afflicted  friends, 
still  that  must  be  swallowed  up  in  their  sorrow  at  seeing 
you  droop  beneath  their  cares.  And  this  from  the  tone 
of  your  letters  I  know,  Aldeane,  you  are  doing.  I  beg  of 
you  to  come  to  us  now,  when  the  appointed  time  arrives 
I  fear  your  health  will  have  failed — for  I  know  that  those 
strange  events  that  have  lately  taken  place  have  made 
wide  inroads  upon  your  happiness,  and  I  presume  also 
your  bodily  welfare.  Then  come  to  us  now.  Belle 
mingles  her  entreaties  with  mine.  We  long  to  greet 
you.  Do  not  disappoint  us. 

"  You  speak  joyfully  of  my  happiness.  You  know,  w^hile 
Belle  is  near  me  I  can  never  know  misery.  Yet  recently 
I  have  had  many  things  to  cause  me  anxiety.  I  do  not 
speak  of  this  to  add  to  your  care,  my  sister,  but  because 
I  have  always  confided  in  you,  and  trusted  to  you  for 
sympathy  and  counsel.  But  indeed  I  hope  and  believe 
that  this  matter  is  not  of  sufficient  importance  to  cause 
either  of  us  any  anxiety. 

"  You  are  aware  with  what  fair  prospects  Halcombe 
and  I  entered  upon  our  career,  and  how  much  confidence 
our  numerous  friends  and  acquaintances  reposed  in  ITS. 
In  some  way  that  confidence  has  been  shaken.  Although 


272  ALDEANH. 

I  have  not  before  mentioned  it  to  you,  I  have  observed  it 
for  some  time  past,  but  thought  a  mere  fancy  ;  but  now 
I  can  not  but  feel  that  it  is  indeed  reality.  One  of  our 
most  important  clients,  without  giving  any  reason,  and 
with  scarcely  an  apology,  has  taken  his  business  from 
our  hands,  and  placed  it.  in  that  of  others.  Another  has 
signified  his  intention  of  doing  so,  while  many  seem  cold 
in  their  greetings,  and  cast  upon  us  suspicious  glances. 
Slanderous  reports,  so  vague  as  to  be  undeniable,  are  float 
ing  about  the  city ;  too  unsubstantial  to  be  contradicted, 
yet  weighty  enough  to  prejudice  many  against  us.  I  can 
suspect  but  one  reason  for  this.  I  refer  it  all  to  the  im 
placable  hatred  of  Jonas  Kevins.  I  have  written  to  yon 
before  of  the  figure  that  he  makes  in  Boston  now,  since 
he  has  become  a  stock-broker.  We  were  mistaken,  Al- 
deane,  when  we  supposed  him  to  be  a  miserly,  ignorant 
farmer.  He  is,  in  reality,  well  educated,  and  one  of  the 
most  cunning  and  vile  of  men.  He  has  been  acting  a 
false  part  for  years,  although  he  has  never  been  able  to 
conceal  his  baseness.  He  has  appeared  to  us,  to  have  no 
other  ambition  than  the  accumulation  of  money,  for  the 
mere  pleasure  of  hoarding  it.  Now  he  seems  to  care  for 
nothing  but  display.  He  boards  at  the  most  fashionable 
hotel  in  Boston,  and  is  having  the  farm-house  fitted  up 
beautifully  for  the  reception  of  his  visitors  during  the 
summer.  He  is,  indeed,  a  perfectly  changed  man.  In 
the  fashionably  attired,  polite  Mr.  Nevins  of  Boston,  you 
would  find  it  almost  impossible  to  recognize  the  uncouth, 
surly  Jonas  Nevins  of  the  mountain-farm. 

"  We  have  met  in  the  streets  a  few  times,  and  he  has 
bowed  to  me,  smiling  maliciously,  as  if  certain  that  he 
held  me  in  his  power.  My  passion  is  so  great,  at  such 
times,  that  it  is  with  difficulty  I  can  restrain  myself  from 
striking  him. 

"  Referring  the  difficulty  to  the  same  source  as  I  do,  Mr. 
Ashton  affects  to  laugh  at  it,  though  I  can  readily  per- 


ALDEANE.  273 

ceive  that  it  troubles  him.  As  for  Chester  Halcorabe,  he 
becomes  sometimes  almost  discouraged,  at  others  vastly 
indignant.  He  has  not  lost  one  particle  of  his  faith  in  me, 
yet  I  know  that  he  sometimes  wishes  that  we  had  not  en 
tered  into  partnership,  though  he  has  not  even  insinuated 
such  a  thing  to  me. 

"  I  was  out  to  the  cottage  yesterday  ;  Belle  is  as  beauti 
ful  as  ever,  and  appears  to  love  me  with  the  devotedness 
that  I  do  her.  She  intrusted  me  with  a  variety  of  mes 
sages  for  you.  It  is  by  her  advice  that  I  have  written  to 
you  of  my  little  trouble ;  knowing  how  much  you  are 
burdened  with  the  afflictions  of  those  that  are  with  you, 
she  had  not  the  heart  to  add  even  the  weight  of  a  feather 
to  your  load  of  cares.  Yet  she  wished  you  to  know  of 
this,  in  order  that  you  might  be  prepared  for  it,  should 
any  thing  untoward  result  from  it. 

"  The  house  on Street  is  nearly  completed ;  I  pray 

that  nothing  may  prevent  us  from  taking  up  o\ir  abode 
in  it  at  the  appointed  time.  Belle  says,  trustingly,  that 
nothing  shall ;  but  I  am  sometimes  oppressed  by  doubts 
and  fears,  although  I  firmly  believe  that  I  can  outlive 
those  vague  and  baseless  slanders,  and  I  assure  you 
nothing  would  give  me  more  joy  than  to  triumph  over 
the  diabolical  hatred  and  persecutions  of  Jonas  Kevins. 

"  Frederic  Morgan  and  his  wife  are  at  home  this  sum 
mer.  Her  health  is  very  delicate,  and  I  fear  that  Fred's 
most  tender  solicitude  will  not  stay  the  ravages  of  that 
fell  disease  which  has  long  been  preying  upon  her. 
Since  his  marriage,  he  has  followed  the  practice  of  his 
profession  assiduously,  seeming  never  to  tire,  happy 
only  when  exerting  his  powers  to  the  utmost.  The  poor 
bless  him,  and  the  rich  will  trust  no  other,  for  miles 
around.  He  has  lost  much  of  the  gay  elasticity  of  spirit 
that  distinguished  him  in  his  bachelor  days,  and  although 
apparently  cheerful,  a  shadow  hangs  over  his  heart,  seen 
only  by  his  nearest  friends,  such  as  I  have  the  honor  to 

]9* 


274  ALDEANE. 

be.  Perhaps  it  is  his  wife's  constant  sickness  that  op 
presses  him ;  whatever  is  the  cause,  he  is  sadly  changed. 
"  Allie,  again  I  say  come  to  us !  Write  immediately 
when  I  may  meet  you  in  New  York.  Come  to  your  lov 
ing  Belle,  and  your  anxious  and  affectionate  brother. 

"  ARTHUR  GUTHEIE." 

A  new  sorrow  darted  into  Aldeane's  heart,  and  rankled 
there  as  she  read  this  epistle.  It  tilled  her  with  alarm. 
She  doubted  not  but  that  Kevins  was  bent  upon  Arthur's 
destruction,  and  she  feared  much  the  result  of  his  machi 
nations  ;  she  longed  to  fly  to  him  at  once  to  shield  him 
from  his  enemy,  and  she  thought  with  wrathful  impa 
tience  how  little  her  efforts  would  avail.  "  Shall  I  go  or 
not,"  was  the  perplexing  question  that  haunted  her.  She 
heard  a  soft  footfall  on  the  stairs,  and  thought  of  Leoriore. 
"  Ah,  I  can  not  leave  her !"  she  cried  ;  "  to  her  I  can  be 
some  comfort,  but  to  him  I  can  do  no  good."  And  after 
an  hour  spent  in  tearful  thought,  she  answered  Arthur's 
letter,  as  she  had  one  of  Belle's  before,  saying,  that  though 
her  inclinations  bade  her  hasten  to  the  North,  her  duty 
held  her  South,  and  there  she  would  stay  till  Leonore 
rallied  from  her  grief,  or  yielding  to  it,  died.  It  was  hard 
thus  to  write,  and  her  resolution  almost  failed  her,  when 
she  fancied  she  heard  a  slight  noise  in  Leonore's  room. 
Catching  up  the  light,  she  hastily  sped  thither,  and  found 
every  thing  perfectly  quiet.  She  had  been  unnecessarily 
alarmed,  but  she  could  not  go  without  one  look  at  the 
object  of  her  solicitude.  She  lay  upon  the  bed  so  coldly 
pale,  that  but  for  a  slight  quivering  motion  of  the  lips, 
as  her  breath  parted  them,  her  tranquil  sleep  might  have 
been  taken  for  death.  A  reflection,  rather  than  stamp  of 
pain  seated  upon  her  features,  while  a  sigh  gently  parted 
her  lips.  Aldeane  bent  to  press  a  kiss  upon  the  waxen 
brow,  and  to  smooth  her  dark  hair  back,  when  she  heard 
the  eagerly  whispered  word,  "  George !  George !"  as  if 


ALDEANE.  275 

< 

the  soul  of  the  young  dreamer  were  in  communion  with 
that  of  her  lover. 

With  a  sigh,  Aldeane  returned  to  her  chamber,  and 
to  the  completion  of  her  letter.  Ere  it  was  finished  the 
clock  struck  twelve,  and  soon  afterward  she  lay  down  to 
sleep  restlessly  till  morning.  At  its  approach  she  arose, 
and  descended  to  the  garden,  to  seek  in  the  fresh  air 
that  repose  of  spirit  which  the  night  had  failed  to  bring. 
Gradually  it  came,  and  her  mind,  losing  much  of  the 
care  that  had  lately  weighed  upon  it,  turned  with  delight 
to  the  beauty  that  lay  bathed  in  dew,  sparkling  in  the 
early  sunbeams.  Even  before  the  tempest  that  had 
swept  half  its  arbors  and  trellisses  away,  the  garden  had 
never  looked  more  beautiful  than  now.  Pursuing  her  fa 
vorite  walk  to  the  oak-tree.  Aldeane  looked  with  quiet 
pleasure  around  her.  She  thought  of  the  first  morning, 
and  how  much  had  since  then  transpired.  Jessie,  with  a 
laughing  "  Good-morning,  Miss  Aldeane,"  ran  by  her  to 
join  the  boys,  whose  merry  voices  were  heard  in  the 
distance.  Then  all  was  silent,  and  Aldeane  again 
relapsed  into  reverie.  As  she  approached  the  oak,  she 
was  startled  by  a  voice  saying  cheerily : — 

"  Ah,  Miss  Guthrie,  you  are  an  early  riser  like  myself, 
I  see ;  and  as  fond,  too,  of  this  shady  path  !" 

Turning,  she  beheld  Mr.  Pierce  advancing  toward  her. 
"  How  are  you  to-day  ?"  he  asked,  clasping  her  hand,  and 
and  looking  at  her  anxiously ;  "  you  have  passed  a  sleep 
less  night,  I  fear.  Why  will  you  worry  so  ?" 

"You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Pierce,  I  have  slept  well,"  she 
answered  with  a  faint  smile. 

"Perhaps  so — for  you,"  he  answered.  "But  it  is 
perfectly  unnatural  that  one  so  young,  should  toss  and 
dream  all  night,  to  wake  at  morning,  only  to  brood  over 
the  sorrows  of  others  throughout  the  day.  A  change 
would  do  you  good,  Miss  Guthrie.  I  must  take  you  away 
North  with  me.  Will  you  go  ?" 


276  ALDEANE. 

She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  Eh  !  Why  not,  now  ?"  he  persisted.  "  Are  you  not 
going  a  few  months  later,  and  for  the  sake  of  my  escort, 
will  you  not  hurry  the  time  a  little  ?" 

"  Say  nothing  about  it.  Indeed,  I  don't  know  that  I 
shall  go  at  all,  Mr.  Pierce." 

"  Not  at  all !"  he  repeated.  "  Nonsense,  you  shall  go  ! 
You  are  getting  as  white  and  thin  as  Leonore  !  Do  you 
want  to  die  with  her  ?  You  shall  not  at  any  rate,  you 
must  go  North  with  me !  There  is  Mrs.  Arendell  on  the 
piazza  now,  I  will  speak  to  her  about  it  this  moment." 

He  started  away ;  but  Aldeane's  hand,  laid  firmly, 
though  gently  upon  his  arm,  detained  him. 

"  Don't  say  any  thing  to  her  about  it !  Please  don't !" 
she  pleaded,  "  I  can  not  go  now,  but  I  think  I  will  in 
December ;  but  I  can  not  leaAre  them  all  now,  even 
Colonel  Arendell  would  miss  me  sadly." 

"  He  could  not  do  without  you !"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Pierce,  looking  at  her  admiringly.  "  He  told  me  yester 
day,  that  you  and  his  good  wife  are  his  only  comforters, 
and  that  if  either  were  taken  away,  he  should  be  entirely 
prostrated.  But  I  forget !  I  am  injuring  my  own 
cause." 

"  Not  at  all !"  replied  she,  "  I  could  never  consent  to 
leave  them  now." 

"  Promise  me,  that  you  will  in  December,  Aldeane ! 
It  distresses  me  beyond  measure,  to  see  you  so  careworn 
and  pale.  Come,  promise  me  !" 

"  I  can  not,  indeed !"  she  answered.  "  You  know  that 
I  will  go  to  my  brother's  wedding  if  it  is  possible  to  do 
so ;  but  not  if  Leonore  needs  my  company  as  much  as 
she  does  now." 

"  You  are  a  noble  girl,"  cried  Mr.  Pierce,  earnestly. 
"  Will  you  do  one  thing  that  I  ask  of  you  ?" 

"  A  dozen  if  compatible  with  my  duty,"  she  replied. 

"  Oh ;  this  is  nothing  to  interfere  with  it !     Will  you 


ALDEANE.  277 

write  to  me  when  I  am  gone  to  let  me  know  the  end  of 
all  this?  You  can  not  wonder  that  I  am  deeply  in 
terested." 

"  I  will  let  you  know  all  that  transpires,"  she  answered 
readily.  "  When  do  you  expect  to  leave  us  ?" 

"  Within  two  days.  I  have  in  fact  nothing  to  stay  for. 
I  shall  remain  in  New  York  a  week  or  two,  to  have  poor 
Raymond's  monument,  which  I  have  already  ordered, 
finished,  and  also,  according  to  the  wish  of  Leonore,  I 
shall  have  it  safely  stored  there,  to  remain  until  sent  for. 
.It  almost  kills  me  to  think  that  that  fair  child  must 
die." 

The  breakfast-bell  was  sounded,  and  turning,  they 
went  silently  back  to  the  house. 

"  Oh,  mamma !"  they  heard  Jessie  exclaim,  as  they 
entered  the  dining-room.  "  Mr.  Pierce  is  going  away  in 
a  day  or  two  I  heard  him  tell  Miss  Aldeane  so  in  the 
garden  this  morning." 

"  When,  little  eavesdropper  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Arendell. 

"  Just  a  minute  ago.  I  was  going  to  speak  to  her,  but 
she  didn't  notice  me,  and  I  heard  them  talking  about 
sister  Nora,  and  Mr.  Raymond,  and — " 

"  Jessie !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Arendell,  while  Leonore 
turned  deadly  pale.  "  Jessie  !"  and  catching  the  fright 
ened  child  in  her  arms,  she  carried  her  screaming  from 
the  room.  Frank  and  Eddie  looked  on  in  surprise,  and 
Colonel  Arendell  looked  at  them  helplessly,  trembling 
from  head  to  foot,  as  since  his  illness  he  always  did  at 
the  slightest  excitement.  Leonore  clutched  the  table 
cloth  nervously  with  both  hands,  and  presently  asked 
faintly : — 

"  Are  you,  indeed,  going  so  soon,  Mr.  Pierce  ?" 

"  I  am,  Miss  Arendell,"  he  replied. 

"  And — "  she  began,  with  a  painfully  anxious  look. 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself,  Miss  Arendell,  your  wishes 
shall  be  respected  in  all  things." 


278  ALDEANE. 

A  smile  of  thankfulness  illumined  her  face  for  a 
moment,  then  left  it  as  grave  and  pale  as  before. 

Mrs.  Arendell  did  not  again  appear,  and  a  languid 
conversation  was  kept  up  between  Mr.  Pierce,  Aldeane, 
and  Frank,  and  when  they  arose  from  the  table  it  was 
with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  each  turned  away  to  their 
wonted  avocations. 

The  day  following,  Mr.  Pierce  took  his  departure. 
Aldeane  watched  him  from  her  window,  as  far  as  the 
bend  of  the  road,  with  a  strange  feeling  of  desolation 
and  oppression,  as  if  she  had  a  difficult,  and  weary  task 
to  perform,  and  him  on  whom  she  most  relied  for  assist 
ance  and  support  was  taken  from  her.  Unconsciously 
she  had  come  to  rely  upon  his  judgment,  and  found 
comfort  in  his  sympathy.  But  not  long  could  she 
indulge  such  thought.  Throwing  her  arms  around 
her  neck,  and  bursting  into  tears,  Leonore  exclaimed  in 
an  agonized  voice: — 

"He  is  gone!  he  is  gone!  Even  his  friends  desert 
me!" 

"  No ;  not  all !"  replied  Aldeane,  soothingly.  "  You 
forget,  Leonore,  that  I  am  still  with  you,  and  I  was  his 
friend." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  wras  with  him !  I  wish  I  was  with  him !" 
with  a  fresh  burst  of  sobs,  was  her  only  reply. 

"  Leonore  !  Leonore  J"  said  Aldeane,  in  as  stern  a  voice 
as  she  could  use  to  her.  "  You  are  wicked — you  forget 
that  God  wrill  take  you  in  his  own  good  time.  You 
ought  rather  to  pray  to  live  to  be  a  blessing  to  those 
who  love  you  so  well." 

"  Ah,  it  will  be  better  for  all  when  I  am  gone !"  she 
answered,  mournfully.  "  Do  not  wish  me  to  live,  Allie. 
You  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  have  your  brimming  cup 
of  love  dashed  from  your  lips,  and  one  filled  with  the 
very  dregs  of  bitterness  and  woe  to  quaff  instead." 

"  Alas !  I  know  too  well,"  thought  Aldeane,  but  she 


ALDEANE.  279 

only  said,  "Will  nothing  comfort  or  arouse  you  ?  Come ; 
let  us  walk  in  the  garden,  some  of  the  paths  are  beauti 
ful  and  shady  to-day." 

She  arose  and  went,  just  as  she  did  every  thins:, 
uncomplainingly,  unenjoyingly.  A  sort  of  stupor  seemed 
to  have  seized  upon  her  faculties.  She  was  alive  to 
nothing  but  her  sorrows,  and  they  seemed  to  have 
almost  crazed  her  mind.  A  wreck  of  what  she  once  had 
been,  she  seemed  patiently  to  await  her  final  dissolution. 
She  remained  constantly  with  Aldeane,  shunning  almost 
all  other  company.  She  would  sit  for  hours,  smoothing 
the  folds  of  her  black  dress  with  her  thin  white  hands,  or 
twining  them  restlessly  together  in  her  lap.  Her  brown 
eyes  gazing  wistfully  around,  and  her  lips  half  parted  as 
if  to  speak.  Paler  and  more  unearthly  she  became  day 
by  day,  until,  at  the  end  of  the  summer,  she  appeared 
like  a  being  from  the  skies,  so  fair  and  fragile  had  she 
become. 

With  the  cool  winds  of  autumn  she  seemed  to  revive, 
and  all  began  feebly  to  hope  that  she  might  regain  her 
health  and  partial  happiness.  Mrs.  Arendell  urged  the 
colonel  to  take  her  to  Cuba,  but  Leonore  seemed  unwill 
ing  to  take  the  journey,  so  it  was  deferred.  She  said  to 
Aldeane : — 

"  I  am  afraid  to  go  ;  I  want  to  die  at  home  !" 

Nothing  could  banish  the  thought  of  death  from  her 
mind,  it  was  fixed  there,  to  the  expulsion  of  all  ideas  of 
life  and  joy. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

ALDEAXE  RETURNS  TO  THE  NORTH. 

As  the  time  appointed  for  her  journey  North  ap 
proached,  Aldeane  became  restless  and  uneasy.  Arthur 
and  Belle  became  still  more  urgent  for  her  return,  but 
much  as  she  desired  to  go  to  them,  she  could  not  endure 
the  thought  of  leaving  the  Arendells  even  for  a  short 
time  ;  so  much  did  they  seem  to  depend  upon  her.  Yet 
her  brother  required  her  personal  counsel  and  sympathy 
also,  for  his  practice  was  much  reduced  by  the  secret 
assaults  of  his  old  enemy,  and  Mr.  Halcombe  had  already 
mentioned  the  desirableness  of  a  disruption  of  partnership. 

Arthur  had  proposed  to  Mr.  Ashton,  that  his  marriage 
with  Belle  should  at  least  be  deferred,  but  Mr.  Ashton, 
whose  confidence  in  the  young  lawyer  was  nothing 
shaken  by  his  misfortunes,  would  not  listen  to  it,  and  it 
was  to  take  place  at  the  appointed  time.  He  thought 
that  this  public  act  of  confidence  in  Arthur,  would 
restore  that  of  others,  and  that  he  would  soon  regain  his 
popularity. 

A  wet,  dreary  day  in  December  found  the  inmates  of 
Arendell  House  gathered  in  the  sitting-room,  around  a 
glowing  wood  fire.  Colonel  Arendell  was  writing,  Leo- 
nore  looking  idly  out  of  the  window,  and  Aldeane  busily 
engaged  in  instructing  Eddie  and  Jessie.  Frank  had 
been  sent  to  school  early  in  the  fall,  and  she  now  had 
but  two  pupils,  thus  leaving  her  much  time  to  be  with 
Leonore,  who  had  arisen,  and  was  looking  with  an  air  of 
some  interest  down  the  road. 


ALDEANE.  281 

"  Pa,  there  is  a  horse  and  buggy  crossing  the  bridge," 
she  said.  "  What  can  bring  any  one  here  such  a  wet  day  ?" 

"  Probably  it  is  Dr.  Grey,  coming  to  see  you,  my  dear. 
You  know  he  doesn't  mind  a  little  rain.  Has  he  stopped 
here  ?" 

"Yes,  papa.  But  it  is  not  Dr.  Grey,  but  a  young 
gentleman." 

She  started  as  a  young  man  leapt  from  the  vehicle. 
The  tall,  commanding  figure,  and  dark  complexion,  re 
minded  her  painfully  of  Raymond,  and  seemed  strangely 
familiar. 

Colonel  Arendell  walked  to  the  window.  "  Come 
here,  Miss  Allie,"  he  said,  "  and  tell  me  whether  you 
know  who  this  is  hurrying  up  the  walk.  I  am  sure  I 
have  seen  him  before !" 

She  went  to  his  side,  and  in  a  joyous  voice  exclaimed : 
"  Arthur !  dear  Arthur  !"  and  rushed  to  meet  him. 

"  So  it  is !"  cried  Leonore.  "  How  strange  that  we  did 
not  recognize  him,  but  his  hat  is  slouched  over  his  face 
so !  Ah,  how  delighted  Aldeane  is !"  she  continued,  as 
she  heard  a  faint  scream  of  delight,  and  beheld  her 
clasped  in  Arthur's  warm  embrace. 

In  another  moment  he  was  in  the  house,  where  he  was 
received  warmly,  and  with  many  exclamations  of  surprise 
at  his  unexpected  appearance.  After  the  first  joyful  mo 
ment  of  meeting  was  passed,  Aldeane' s  heart  sank  within 
her,  and  with  trembling  lips,  she  asked : — 

"  Why  have  you  come,  Arthur  ?  Has  any  thing  more 
occurred  ?" 

"  Nothing  more,"  he  replied.  "  I  came  simply  to  con 
duct  you  home." 

Leonore  looked  at  him  sorrowfully  for  a  moment,  and 
then  as  if  with  an  effort  said,  "  You  are  right,  Mr.  Guth- 
rie,"  and  hurried  from  the  room. 

"  We  shall  miss  Aldeane  very  much,"  said  the  colonel, 
"  but  I  believe  a  trip  North  will  do  her  good." 


282  ALDEANE. 

"  And  this  is  the  very  time  for  her  to  take  it,  as  you 
are  about  to  take  Miss  Leonore  to  Cuba.  Dr.  Morgan 
commissioned  me  to  say,  when  I  told  him  I  was  coming 
here  to  take  Aldeane  home,  that  he  could  join  you  there 
with  his  wife,  as  she  is  so  very  delicate." 

Aldeane  averted  her  face  quickly. 

"  We  have  given  up  the  trip  to  Cuba,"  said  Mrs.  Aren- 
olell,  "  Leonore  seems  to  be  so  very  unwilling  to  leave 
home.  But  how  is  Annie  ?  Do  you  think  that  her  life 
is  in  danger?" 

"  I  do,  indeed,  madam,"  replied  Arthur.  "  She  seems 
to  be  gradually  sinking,  in  spite  of  Morgan's  care.  I  fear 
she  will  soon  pass  from  earth." 

"  I  fear  that  our  tears  will  scarcely  be  dried  for  one, 
ere  they  will  flow  for  another!"  sighed  the  colonel,  as 
Leonore  glided  by  the  window. 

"  Aldeane  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Arendell,  quickly,  wishing 
to  change  the  subject:  "Your  brother  must  be  weary. 
Show  him  to  a  room,  will  you  ?  And  order  a  servant  to 
attend  him." 

Aldeane  led  the  way  to  the  apartment  that  had  been 
occupied  by  George  Raymond.  Arthur  caught  her  in  his 
arms  when  they  were  alone,  and  looking  sorrowfully  upon 
her  careworn  face,  exclaimed  : — 

"  Oh,  Aldeane  !  Aldeane  !  you  are  sacrificing  yourself 
for  others  !  It  is  wrong  !  indeed  it  is.  Thanks  be,  I  have 
arrived  in  time  to  save  you  two  months'  care  at  least !" 

"  But  really,  Arthur— !" 

"  But  really,  Aldeane —  !  but  we  will  not  discuss  the 
point  now.  You  have  not  asked  me  about  any  of  your 
Boston  friends  yet !" 

"  Your  arrival  has  40  distracted  me  that  I  have  been 
unable  to  collect  my  senses  sufficiently  to  ask  any  thing. 
I  suppose  they  are  all  well." 

"  Yes  ;  and  very  anxious  to  see  you." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  I  am  so  kindly  remembered.     I  will 


ALDEANE. 

leave  you  now  to  make  yourself  a  little  presentable. 
Belle  would  scarcely  smile  to  see  you  at  present.  You 
will  find  us  in  the  parlor." 

She  left  him,  thinking  sadly  how  changed  he  was.  He 
appeared  haggard  and  careworn,  when  a  few  years  be 
fore  he  had  been  so  careless  and  buoyant.  lie  had 
altered  nearly  as  much  as  she  had,  during  the  years  they 
had  been  separated.  His  broad,  thoughtful  brow,  was 
already  slightly  furrowed  by  anxiety ;  his  nervous  tem 
perament  was  plainly  discernible  in  his  quick  flashing 
eyes.  He  evidently  suffered  much  from  the  secret  assaults 
of  Nevins,  although  he  often  feigned  indifference  to  them. 

It  was  not  until  the  evening  of  the  next  day  that  Ar 
thur  and  Aldeane  found  an  opportunity  for  private  con 
versation.  They  were  in  the  library,  sitting  before  a 
glowing  fire,  which  the  coldness  of  the  day  rendered 
necessary  to  comfort.  They  had  been  talking  of  Belle, 
and  other  friends,  but  Arthur  at  last  became  silent,  at 
lust  exclaiming : — 

"  If  my  business  was  only  prosperous  I  should  be  per 
fectly  happy  !" 

"  Do  you  think,"  asked  Aldeane  in  a  hesitating  manner, 
for  she  feared  to  give  to  her  voice  a  cadence  of  doubt  as 
to  his  integrity  or  ability,  "  do  you  really  think  that  Mr. 
Nevins  is  the  sole  cause  of  your  failure  ?" 

"  Certainly  he  is  !"  replied  Arthur,  vehemently.  "  He 
hates  me  with  the  strongest,  and  most  enduring  ani 
mosity  with  which  it  is  possible  for  one  man  to  hate  an 
other.  Not  content  with  robbing  me  of  my  sole  inherit 
ance  he  seeks  to  disgrace  me  in  the  eyes  of  the  world, 
and  to  render  me  forever  a  debtor  to  the  best  friend  I 
have  on  earth."  », 

"  Can  not  you  arrest  this  persecution  in  some  way  ?" 
asked  Aldeane  anxiously.  "  Every  thing  is  to  be  feared 
if  it  continues  much  longer." 

"  No,  not  every  thing ;  for  I  firmly  believe  Mr.  Ashton 


284  ALDEANE. 

will  never  lose  his  confidence  in  me;  it  would  kill  me  if 
he  should — and  Belle  will  always  love  me — that  feeling 
appears  to  be  an  attribute  of  her  nature — thank  God — 
and  can  not  be  changed.  Only  one  way  can  I  see  to  baffle 
Nevins,  and  save  myself.  Aldeane,  if  I  could  recover  that 
lost  document  that  mother  obtained  from  him,  we  should 
be  able  to  ruin  him !" 

"  Ah  !"  said  Aldeane,  with  an  incredulous  smile,  "  you 
still  believe,  then,  that  that  document  once  existed  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it !  Positive  !  I  have  lately  been  to 
every  lawyer  in  the  neighborhood,  thinking  that  perhaps 
to  baffle  Nevins  mother  placed  it  in  strange  hands,  but  I 
have  not  been  able  to  discover  that  she  ever  called  upon 
either  of  them.  Mr.  Evans  you  know  was  particular 
about  every  thing.  There  is  an  entry  made  in  a  record- 
book,  the  January  before  we  went  to  school — I  have  for 
gotten  the  exact  date.  '  Mrs.  Nevins  called  to-day  on 
private  and  important  business ' — and  again,  but  a  few 
months  before  her  death,  '  Mrs.  Nevins  intrusted  to  my 
care  to-day  several  important  papers,  to  be  kept  carefully 
until  after  her  decease,  then  to  be  delivered  to  her  son 
Arthur.'  Charley  happened  to  come  across  those  pas 
sages  one  day  while  looking  over  his  father's  books.  He 
wrote  to  me  to  come  and  pay  him  a  visit.  I  did  so ;  and 
while  there,  ransacked  drawers,  safes,  and  trunks,  full  of 
documents,  without  finding  the  ones  I  sought,  although 
I  am  positive  they  were  given  into  the  lawyer's  hands — 
are  probably  now  in  existence." 

"  Mr.  Charles  Evans  seems  to  take  a  great  interest  in 
the  case,"  said  Aldeane,  after  a  pause. 

"  He  does,  indeed,"  answered  Arthur.  "  You  know  we 
were  boys  together,  and  inseparable  when  at  home.  It 
is  not  often  that  the  friendships  of  youth  endure  as  ours 
has.  Since  I  commenced  practicing,  I  have  been  indebted 
to  him  for  a  number  of  clients  in  Boston  ;  but,"  he  added 
gloomily,  "  they  are  falling  off  now,  one  by  one." 


ALDEANE.  285 

"And  Mr.  Halcombe  feels  it  as  much  as  you,  of 
course  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  true  !  The  poor  fellow  is  undecided  what 
to  do ;  his  father  and  brother  urge  him  to  leave  the  firm, 
while  his  love  and  confidence  in  me  incline  him  to  cling 
till  the  last.  I  have  spoken  to  him  plainly  on  the  matter, 
and  we  have  at  length  come  to  the  conclusion,  that  if  our 
prospects  do  not  improve,  we  will  part  in  the  spring. 
Mr.  Ashton  has  strong  hopes  that  my  marriage  with  his 
daughter  will  restore  public  confidence :  for  people  will 
say,  '  If  Ashton  can  trust  him  so  far  as  to  give  him  his 
only  daughter,  we  surely  can  trust  our  business  affairs 
in  his  hands.'  I  can  only  hope  that  it  will  be  so,  without 
feeling  any  assurance  of  it." 

"  But,  Arthur,  what  is  it  that  Mr.  Nevins  has  said  about 
you  ?"  asked  Aldeane.  "  You  have  never  told  me  that 
yet." 

"  I  do  not  know  myself,"  replied  Arthur.  "  All  is  so 
vague  and  uncertain,  and  Nevins  has  conducted  himself 
with  so  much  caution,  that  I  have  never  been  able  to 
prove  that  he  has  said  any  thing  against  me,  or  found 
any  thing  to  deny.  In  my  own  mind,  not  by  any  out 
ward  evidence  of  it,  I  am  sure  that  he  is  working  my 
ruin.  Certain  it  is,  that  the  very  first  of  my  clients 
that  deserted  me,  was  a  gentleman  with  whom  he  had 
become  very  intimate,  and  since  then  others  have  followed 
in  his  train,  until  nearly  all  the  business  has  fallen  away. 
I  have  not  been  able  to  demand  reasons  for  this,  but  1 
have  heard  repeatedly  that  some  of  those  gentlemen  said 
that  '  a  man's  future  may  be  judged  from  his  past  life. 
'Tis  as  well  to  put  one's  affairs  in  the  hands  of  those  one 
knows  to  be  reliable,  as  to  trust  it  with  young  lawyers 
of  doubtful  integrity.' 

"  And  again,  that  if  Mr.  Halcornbe  was  alone,  they 
should  not  think  of  taking  their  patronage  from  him,  but 
now,  that  they  consider  it  best  to  do  so.  All  of  which 


283  ALDEANE. 

contains  strong  insinuations  against  me.  All  this,  I  per 
ceive,  has  taken  effect  upon  Chester ;  he  often  eyes  me 
askance,  and  seems  to  have  no  hope  that  we  shall  ever 
rise  together.  He  is,  in  fact,  anxious  for  a  separation, 
though  he  does  not  wish  to  wound  my  feelings  by  frankly 
telling  me  so.  I  am  a  most  unfortunate  fellow,  indeed," 
and  Arthur  sighed  deeply. 

"  Oh,  no,  you  are  not,"  cried  Aldeane.  "  Think  how 
many  true  friends  you  have ;  think  how  Belle  loves  and 
trusts  you !  and  how  happy  you  will  be  in  the  possession 
of  that  love — to  be  yours — yours  alone  forever !  Oh, 
how  blest !" 

Arthur  took  her  hands  within  his  own,  pressing  them 
gently,  and  looking  into  her  eyes — "  Yes,  I  shall  indeed 
be  blest !  But  you,  Allie,  how  is  it  with  you  ?  Your 
hopes,!  fear,  have  been  cruelly  blighted." 

"  Oh,  Arthur !"  She  fell  upon  his  bosom  with  a  low 
scream  of  real  anguish.  She  had  not  known  before  how 
slight  a  word  would  rend  her  heart.  She  had  sealed  the 
fountain  of  her  tears,  and  shunned  thought.  She  had 
tancied  she  had  almost  forgotten ;  but  these  few  words 
of  sympathy,  spoken  in  loving  tones,  had  aroused  again 
all  her  love  and  despair. 

For  a  moment  Arthur  held  her  in  his  arms,  in  astonish 
ment  ;  then  lifting  up  her  pale  face,  asked  sternly :  "  Have 
you  been  trifled  with,  and  then  your  pure  loving  heart 
thrown  aside  ?" 

"  You  know  it  was  not  so !"  she  cried,  passionately. 
"  He  loved  me ;  he  does  still !"  She  breathed  out  the 
words  as  if  she  found  a  fierce  pleasure  in  them.  "  His 
puny  wife  is  nothing  more  than  a  petted  child  to  him, 
and  yet  she  took  precedence  of  me  !" 

"You  love  Frederic  Morgan!  Oh,  Aldeane!  Al- 
dearie  !"  ciied  Arthur,  alarmed  more  by  her  manner  than 
her  words ;  for  she  had  risen  and  stood  before  him,  her 
hand  upraised  and  her  eyes  dilated.  "  You  forget  your- 


ALDEANE.  287 

self.  He  is  the  husband  of  another  !  Compose  yourself, 
and  forget  the  past  again  !" 

"It  was  cruel  of  you  to  revive  it,"  she  exclaimed,  sink 
ing  upon  a  sofa,  and  bursting  into  tears.  She  wept  unre 
strainedly,  and  soon  became  calm. 

"  You  must  and  shall  go  North  with  me  !"  said  Arthur, 
stopping  before  her  in  his  rapid  walk  up  and  down  the 
room ;  "  your  health  is  not  good,  and  your  nerves  are 
shattered.  You  must  go." 

"  But  Leonore,  poor  little  Leonore !"  she  sighed,  her 
love  for  her  drooping  friend  overcoming  her  own  earnest 
wishes. 

"That  is  all  settled.  Colonel  Arendell  and  she  are 
going  to  join are  going  to  Cuba  next  week." 

"  Ah  !  if  that  is  the  case " 

"  You  will  go  ?" 

"  Joyfully  !  willingly  !     When  shall  we  start  ?" 

"  We  shall  leave  as  soon  as  you  can  pack  up.  When 
will  you  be  ready  ?" 

"  To-morrow ;  any  time  you  please.  Oh,  dear  old  Bos 
ton,  and  Belle,  and  the  cottage,  how  delighted  I  shall  be 
to  see  them  again !" 

Arthur  was  much  pleased  to  see  her  interest  in  home 
scenes  so  strongly  awakened,  and  wisely  resolved  to  leave 
the  locality  of  anxiety  and  sorrow  as  quickly  as  possible. 

"We  will  go  the  day  after  to-morrow,"  he  said. 
"Meanwhile,  don't  cry  yourself  sick  over  parting  with 
Leonore,  or  allow  the  children  to  suffocate  you  with  their 
caresses,  or  deafen  you  with  their  cries,  for  I  have  prom 
ised  to  let  you  come  back,  if  your  health  is  sufficiently 
restored,  in  two  months ;  Leonore  is  unwilling  to  stay 
longer  in  Cuba,  and  she  could  not  exist  here  without 
you." 

"  Don't  detain  me  any  longer,  nor  talk  to  me  about 
her,  or  I  may  change  my  mind.  I  must  away  and  put 
my  house  in  order,  that  I  may  find  it  so  on  my  return." 


288  ALDEANE. 

He  parted  with  her  at  the  door,  kissing  her  fondly, 
and  said,  "  Go;  but  change  your  mind  on  your  peril.  I 
promised  my  Belle  to  bring  you  buck  with  me,  and  I 
will  not  disappoint  her,  lest  she  should  me  also.  The  day 
after  to-morrow !  Remember !" 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

A   TKEASUKE   FOUND. 

THREE  weeks  later  much  had  occurred.  Arthur  had 
triumphantly  conducted  his  sister  northward,  where,  after 
a  painful  parting  with  Leonore  in  New  York,  where 
with  feelings  indescribable  she  had  caught  a  momentary 
glimpse  of  Frederic  Morgan  and  his  fashionable  but 
delicate  bride,  she  had  had  a  most  joyful  meeting  with 
Belle  Ashton  at  Rose  Cottage,  and  had  beheld  with  joy 
the  union  of  her  dearly  loved  brother  to  his  first  love,  her 
own  faithful  friend. 

It  had  been  what  people  usually  call  a  "  stylish  wed 
ding,"  the  bride  had  been  most  exquisitely  dressed,  the 
bridesmaids  in  appearance  owned  just  the  requisite  degree 
of  inferiority  to  the  central  figure  upon  which  all  eyes 
were  turned — the  bridegroom  was  more  universally 
admired  than  is  usual  with  what  is  considered  the 
secondary  figure  upon  such  an  occasion — the  guests  had 
been  of  the  haut  ton,  and  the  nuptial  arrangements  had 
been  all  that  the  most  fastidious  could  desire,  while  the 
presents  were  the  wonder  and  envy  of  all  Boston  for  a 
month  afterward. 

But  there  had  been  one  gift  prized  by  Arthur  above 
all  others,  though  doubtless  had  Belle  seen  it  she  would 
have  considered  it  a  poor  affair.  But  for  some  time  she 
remained  as  ignorant  of  it  as  the  gay  company  from 
which  Charles  Evans  had  drawn  the  groom  aside,  when 
he  delivered  to  him  a  small  packet  and  whispered  ill 


290  ALDEANE. 

triumphant  tones,  that  it  was  the  document  for  which 
they  had  searched  so  long. 

"  And  actually,  my  father,"  said  Evans,  gleefully — "  the 
queerest  old  soul  he  was,  you  know — had  stowed  it  away  in 
an  old  boot  in  the  garret,  and  so  our  search,  after  all,  was 
no  bootless  one."  And  Evans  laughed  at  his  own  poor 
pun,  and  was  heartily  joined  by  Arthur,  who  declared  it 
the  best  he  had  ever  heard  in  his  life,  while  with  a  violent 
effort  he  pocketed  the  paper,  refraining  from  casting  his 
eyes  over  it  until  a  more  fitting  opportunity  should  pre 
sent  itself. 

And  when  he  had  made  himself  master  of  its  contents 
he  revealed  them  to  Mr.  Ashton  alone,  and  blessed  "  his 
lucky  stars,"  that  he  had  said  nothing  of  it  to  Aldeane. 
And  so  she  remained  in  his  house  three  months  totally 
unconscious  of  the  new  light  that  had  beamed  upon  the 
young  lawyer's  eyes,  and  at  times  rendered  him  careless 
of  the  perplexities  of  his  business,  and  more  than  once  he 
said  to  Mr.  Ashton,  that  he  should  be  saved  if  a  certain 
letter  reached  its  destination  in  safety. 

But  the  way  perhaps  was  long,  for  ere  the  three 
months  were  quite  over,  Arthur's  despondency  returned, 
and  one  evening  he  returned  from  his  office  most 
seriously  disturbed.  Even  his  wife's  gay  raillery  could 
not  recall  his  usual  cheerfulness.  She  anxiously  inquired 
if  he  was  ill.  He  replied  in  the  negative,  and  endeavored 
to  appear  animated  in  her  presence,  but  when  she  left 
the  room,  he  threw  himself  on  a  sofa  in  such  evident 
despondency  that  Aldeane  seated  herself  beside  him  and 
said  affectionately : — 

"  Tell  me,  Arthur,  what  has  happened.  Something  has 
gone  Wrong  at  the  office.  These  persecutions  have  been 
redoubled." 

"  They  have,  indeed,  Allie  !"  he  replied,  bitterly.  "  Not 
one  moment's  happiness  will  the  fiend  give  me.  While 
he  lives  I  can  not  hope  to  prosper ;  to  hear  of  his  death 


ALDEANE. 

would  be  the  most  joyful  news  any  one  coxdd  bring 
me  !" 

"  Dear  Arthur ;  pray  don't  speak  so !"  exclaimed 
Aldeane,  almost  terrified  by  the  fierceness  of  his  manner. 
"  Don't  pour  out  invectives  against  the  cause  of  your 
anxiety,  but  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  Nothing  that  should  vex  me  so  much,  Allie,  but  that 
I  fear  it  is  the  forerunner  of  many  more  serious  disasters. 
You  have  heard  me  speak  of  Arnold  More  whose  case  we 
conducted  so  successfully  last  fall  ?" 

Aldeane  nodded. 

"  Well,  there  was  a  suit  of  his  entered  at  court  to-day 
by  Leigh  and  Bronson !  Now  what  does  that  mean  but 
that  the  tide  is  again  turning  toward  us.  Halcombe  was 
so  surprised  and  angry,  that  he  asked  Mr.  More  the  rea 
son  of  the  change.  He  replied,  that  he  had  made  it  by 
the  advice  of  many  friends,  who  had  assured  him  that 
Leigh  and  Bronson  were  men  of  unusual  talent  and  integ 
rity.  Halcombe  was  about  to  speak  again,  when  Mr. 
More  bowed  coldly  and  left  him.  What  gives  greater 
significance  to  this  event  is,  that  Leigh  and  Bronson  are 
Nevins's  attorneys  and  confidants.  Through  them  many 
of  his  poisoned  darts  have  reached  me.  This  shows  that 
his  brain  is  still  plotting,  and  his  hand  raised  against  me." 

"  Poor  brother ;  how  much  I  pity  you !"  returned  Al 
deane,  tears  of  tender  sensibility  glittering  in  her  gentle 
eyes,  "  but  I  can  not  console  you  like  that  one  to  whom 
you  should  unburden  all  your  cares." 

"  Ah !  you  mean  my  wife !"  he  replied,  with  a  sigh. 
"  No,  Aldeane,  I  can  not  fill  her  loving  heart  with  anxiety ; 
I  can  not  grieve  my  bride  so  quickly." 

"  It  is  better  that  she  should  suffer  a  little  now,"  she 
said,  persuasively,  "  than  that  the  shock  should  come  sud 
denly." 

"  Then  you  really  believe,  Aldeane,  that  I  shall  be  van 
quished  at  last ;  that  I  shall  fall  before  this  merciless  foe." 


292  ALDEANE. 

"  Eveiy  thing  is  to  be  feared,"  answered  Aldeane.  "  If 
you  love  your  wife,  keep  nothing  a  secret  from  her  ;  let 
her  know  your  cares  and  share  them ;  it  will  be  kindness 
in  the  end." 

"  I  believe  you,"  he  replied,  after  a  moment's  reflection. 
"  I  believe  you ;  and  now  shall  begin  our  true  wedded 
life.  She  shall  be  made  partaker  of  my  sorrows  as  well  as 
of  my  joys." 

On  the  following  morning  Aldeane  readily  perceived 
that  Belle  had  indeed  been  made  a  confidant  of  by  her 
husband.  Though  as  cheerful,  she  was  more  thoughtful 
than  usual,  and  after  Arthur  had  left  for  the  office  Aldeane 
was  not  surprised  to  see  her  home  and  seat  herself  on  the 
floor  at  her  feet,  in  her  old  manner,  and,  as  of  yore,  pour 
out  her  heart  and  ask  for  advice. 

"  You  know,  love,"  she  concluded,  "  I  must  bear  up, 
no  difference  what  comes,  for  Arthur  needs  all  my 
strength ;  he  thhiks  so  much  of  my  welfare,  that  I  must 
let  him  see  that  I  am  willing  to  bear  as  much  for  his  sake 
as  he  can  for  mine,  else  his  faithful  heart  will  find  me  a 
burden  instead  of  a  solace." 

"  He  would  scarcely  do  that,  Belle  !"  replied  Aldeane. 
"  You  know  that  I  love  my  brother  as  well  as  it  is  possi 
ble  for  me  to  do ;  though  impulsive  and  passionate,  he  is 
the  soul  of  integrity,  and,  I  truly  believe,  has  never  been 
led  beyond  the  confines  of  temperance  and  virtue.  He 
loves  you  ardently,  and  I  believe,  above  all  others,  you 
are  best  fitted  to  control  his  wayward  nature.  For 
years  you  have  been  the  load-star  of  his  existence ;  no 
other  love  has  ever  animated  him.  I  entreat  you,  dear 
est,  to  beware  of  weakening  this  attachment.  Remember 
that  the  highest  duty  of  woman  is  to  'suffer  and  be 
strong.'  Strong  in  her  love,  in  her  sympathy,  and  in 
resignation  to  whatever  the  Lord  may  deem  good  to 
afflict  her  with.  In  all  the  perplexities  and  sorrows  that 
it  may  be  your  lot  to  share,  console  and  advise,  but  never 


ALDEANE.  293 

upbraid  him ;  his  anger  would  burn  more  fiercely  than 
his  love.  But  I  forget  what  I  am  saying ;  you  know  all 
this  already.  For  the  sake  of  the  happiness  of  all,  I  pray 
you  never  to  forget  it." 

Belle  smiled  confidently.  "  You  warned  me  so  often 
before  my  marriage,  Allie,  and  besides,  I  have  known 
Arthur  so  long,  that  I  can  not  fail  to  remember  it.  But 
indeed,  dearest,  it  seems  as  if  we  shall  never  be  happy  !" 
and  she  sighed  deeply. 

"  That  can  scarcely  be  expected !"  replied  Aldeane, 
passing  her  hands  lightly  and  caressingly  over  the  bright 
curls  of  the  young  wife.  "  Perfect  felicity  can  never  be 
obtained  in  this  world ;  we  must  look  for  it  to  a  higher 
and  holier  source." 

The  bell  rang  loudly  through  the  house,  startling  them 
both  from  the  sober  train  of  thought  into  which  they  had 
fallen. 

"  It  is  papa !"  exclaimed  Belle,  springing  up.  "I  know 
his  ring ;  and  there  is  his  carriage  at  the  door !" 

In  a  few  moments  he  entered  the  room.  Immediately 
after  the  usual  salutations  were  exchanged,  Belle  informed 
him  of  the  fresh  annoyance  that  had  occurred  to  the 
young  lawyers. 

Mr.  Ashton  listened  gravely  to  the  recital.  "  I  was  in 
hope  that  this  persecution  had  ceased,"  he  at  last  re 
marked.  "  I  saw  that  modern  Judas  Iscariot — Nevins — 
this  morning  in  company  with  several  of  the  best  men  of 
Boston,  many  of  whom,  I  doubt  not,  were  Arthur's  cli 
ents,  whom  he  was  slyly  but  surely  prejudicing  against 
him.  I  must  see  to  this  matter ;  it  must  be  stopped  if 
possible." 

He  evidently  felt  more  anxiety  about  the  affair  than  he 
was  willing  to  reveal  to  Belle  and  Aldeane.  After  a  few 
moments'  conversation  upon  the  subject,  he  turned  to 
Aldeane,  with  the  inquiry  when  she  proposed  returning 
South. 


294  ALDEANE. 

"  In  a  week  at  the  farthest,"  she  replied.  "  I  am 
already  prepared  to  go  at  an  hour's  warning." 

"  You  wish  to  go  by  way  of  New  York  ?" 

"Of  course!" 

"  Well,  then,"  he  continued,  "  if  you  will  accept  me 
for  an  escort,  and  be  ready  by  Tuesday,  I  will  accom 
pany  you  as  far  as  that  city." 

"  Only  four  days  !"  exclaimed  Belle.  "  Indeed,  papa, 
she  shall  not  go  ^  'tis  bad  enough  that  she  will  go  at  all, 
but  I  am  sure  it,must  not  be  so  soon !" 

"I  will  certainly  be  ready  to  accompany  you,  Mr. 
Ashton,"  said  Aldeane,  quietly. 

Belle  looked  at  her  with  a  comical  affectation  of 
surprise.  "That  has  been  the  way  ever  since  the 
first  day  I  met  you!"  she  said,  laughing.  "You  have 
always  set  aside  all  my  arrangements  as  if  they  were 
not  of  the  slightest  consequence.  If  it  was  any  one  else 
but  you,  I  would  quarrel  with  them  all  day  before  I 
would  allow  it." 

"  But  you  find  it  best  not  to  handle  thistles  !"  laughed 
Aldeane. 

"  Well,  if  I  am  afraid  to  handle  them  .myself,  I  will 
find  some  one  that  is  not.  I  will  call  in  Arthur  to  exert 
his  authority,  and  detain  you  with  us ;  I  declare  I 
will !" 

"  I  care  about  as  much  for  his  authority  now,  as  I  did 
in  my  school  days !"  replied  Aldeane,  gayly.  "  Don't 
you  remember,  how  we  used  to  laugh  at  it  together, 
and  which  has  the  most  of  it  now?  The  one  that 
laughed  the  most,  I  think." 

Belle  looked  a  little  confused. 

"Fairly  caught!"  cried  Mr.  Ashton.  "Well,  Allie, 
I  understand  that  you  are  to  go  with  me.  Remember 
that  I  am  on  your  side,  and  you  shall  do  just  as  you 
please.  Here  is  a  budget  of  letters,  that  I  got  for  you 
at  the  post-office,  as  I  came  along.  One  is  from  Havana, 


ALDEANE.  295 

I  see.  I  shall  bo  back  with  Arthur  to  dinner ;  you  must 
let  me  know  the  news  then.  Adieu  !" 

The  perusal  of  a  long  letter  from  Leonore  occupied 
Aldeane's  thoughts  for  some  time  after  his  departure. 
She  spoke  eloquently  of  Cuba ;  describing  with  enthusi 
asm  its  many  beauties,  and  enlarging  upon  the  pleasant 
life  they  led,  sometimes  in  the  city,  then  in  country, 
tasting  each  luxury  that  the  island  afforded  in  their 
search  for  health.  » 

Of  Mrs.  Morgan  she  spoke  despondently.  The  spicy 
breezes  seemed  powerless  to  bring  aught  save  the  hectic 
flush  of  death  to  her  cheek ;  the  balmy  air  could  plant 
no  hue  of  health  there,  nor  raise  her  spirits  again  to 
cheerfulness.  It  was  plain  that  she  was  dying,  and  their 
return  home  would  be  hastened  on  her  account.  Aldeane 
feared  that  what  Leonore  had  written  of  Annie,  she 
might  with  equal  truth  have  said  of  herself.  Through 
all  the  forced  gayety  of  the  letter  stole  a  dim  shadow 
of  sadness.  She  spoke  lovingly  of  home,  as  one  who 
pines  for  its  shelter.  Aldeane  had  always  feared  that 
travel  would  do"  little  to  keep  her  from  the  early  tomb 
that  seemed  opening  to  receive  her,  and  this  letter  only 
served  to  strengthen  her  fears.  They  were  indeed  con 
firmed  by  a  short  note  from  Colonel  Arendell.  He  spoke 
despairingly  of  the  invalids,  saying  that  Leonore  appeared 
no  better,  and  that  Annie's  death  was  daily  expected. 
Dr.  Morgan,  he  said,  with  the  most  unceasing  tenderness 
watched  over  his  wife,  and  soothed  her  fleeting  hours, 
and  as  Frederic's  mother  was  also  with  them,  no  care 
and  attention  that  either  could  bestow  was  for  a  moment 
neglected.  He  named  an  early  day  for  their  departure, 
unless  Annie  should  become  so  much  worse  as  to  render 
it  impossible,  and  concluded  by  begging  Aldeane  to  be 
at  home  to  meet  them,  much  for  his  own  sake,  but  more 
for  Leonore's,  to  whom  the  disappointment  would  be 
very  great  if  she  were  not  there  to  meet  her. 


296  ALDEANE. 

Aldeane  shed  many  tears  over  those  two  letters. 
Tenderly  she  thought  of  Leonore  and  of  the  dying  wife 
of  him  whom  she  still  loved  as  deeply  as  ever.  Sincere 
grief  for  her  untimely  fate  filled  her  heart.  She  sorrowed 
deeply  for  her,  without  one  selfish  thought,  and  felt,  that 
even  were  it  in  her  power,  she  would  not  take  from  her 
one  hour  of  happiness  that  she  had  enjoyed  in  her  mar 
ried  life.  Her  heart  leapt  wildly  as  she  thought  of 
Frederic  Morgan,  and  with  an  effort  she  banished  the 
subject  from  her  mind,  for  to  think  of  him,  she  knew  was 
dangerous  to  her  peace. 

The  receipt  of  those  letters  determined  her  still  more, 
in  spite  of  Arthur  and  Belle's  entreaties,  to  return  South 
immediately.  She  reflected,  that  if  Annie's  strength  had 
permitted  they  were  already  on  their  journey,  and  might 
reach  home  nearly  as  soon  as  she  could.  She  could  not 
endure  the  thought  that  Leonore  should  return  to  Aren- 
dell  House,  and  find  it  so  dull  and  gloomy,  as  it  would 
certainly  appear  without  her  presence. 

The  last  evening  spent  in  Boston  was  quiet,  and 
almost  sad.  Mr.  Halcombe  and  Mr.  Evans,  with  a  few 
friends,  came  in  to  bid  Aldeane  farewell.  Mr.  Evans 
spoke  of  a  weightier  matter.  His  admiration  had  deep 
ened  into  love,  and  although  he  had  but  little  hope  that 
she  reciprocated  the  feeling,  he  offered  her  his  heart  and' 
hand,  assured  that  with  her  as  his  wife  he  should  be  one  of 
the  happiest  of  men,  while  a  refusal  would  sadden  with 
out  making  him  utterly  miserable.  Aldeane  heard  him 
respectfully,  then  in,  a  delicate  manner,  most  flattering 
and  soothing  to  his  feelings,  declined  his  offer,  and  he 
left  her,  thinking  more  deeply  on  the  matter  than  he  had 
ever  conceived  his  philosophical  nature  would  permit  him 
to  upon  any  subject. 

At  early  morning  the  last  farewells  were  spoken,  and 
Aldeane  left  her  brother's  house,  leaving,  with  numberless 
prayers  for  their  welfare,  the  young  couple  to  bear  to- 


ALDEANE,  297 

gether  the  cares  and  joys  of  life.  Perhaps  as  she  caught 
the  last  glimpse  of  them  standing  together,  so  loving,  so 
strong  in  purpose  and  pure  in  heart,  she  thought  with  a 
pang  of  what  might  have  been,  and  for  a  little  tune  there 
came  upon  her  such  utter  desolation,  as  the  woman  who 
had  selfishly  wrecked  her  happiness,  could  never,  never 
have  realized ;  and  yet,  which  was  at  that  moment  the 
happier — the  lonely  governess,  or  Frederic  Morgan's  fair 
young  bride  ? 

13* 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

THE    GOVERNESS   RESUMES   HER   DUTIES. 

WAS  ever  such  welcome  given  governess  before,  as 
that  which  met  Aldeane  Guthrie  upon  her  return  to 
Arendell  House.  The  children  met  her  at  Loring,  and 
half  suffocated  her  with  caresses,  and  deafened  her  with 
noisy  demonstrations  of  delight,  and  Mrs.  Arendell  re 
ceived  her  at  the  garden  gate,  and  drew  her  to  her 
bosom  with  a  silent  gush  of  tears,  which  were  far  more 
eloquent  than  any  words.  Aldeane  returned  the  greeting 
as  warmly,  and  almost  hysterically,  though  such  weak 
nesses  were  not  at  all  usual  to  her. 

The  negroes,  with  countenances  expressive  of  pleasure, 
gathered  around  her,  and  grasping  her  dress,  Aunt  Roxy, 
exclaimed : — 

"  Lor',  missie,  I  hope  you'se  brought  back  some  ob  de 
sunshine !  It's  cl'ar  gone  with  you  an'  Miss  Nora.  Bless 
you'  dear  faces.  I'se  glad  to  see  you  back  ag'in  an'  dat 
she's  comin',  an'  I  hope  she'll  look  as  hearty  as  you  do ! 
You've  done  picked  up  mighty,  Miss  Aldeane." 

With  a  few  kind  words,  Aldeane  left  the  noisy  group, 
and  entered  once  more  the  well-remembered  sitting-room. 
Jessie  and  Eddie,  half  wild  with  delight,  danced  around 
her,  asking  a  dozen  questions  in  one  breath,  and  almost 
deafening  her  with  their  joyful  exclamations.  Mrs. 
Arendell  soon  turned  them  quietly  from  the  room,  and 
seating  herself  beside  Aldeane,  clasped  her  hands,  and, 
while  a  few  tears  strayed  over  her  face,  murmured : — 


ALDEANE. 

"  Oh  !  Aldeane,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  again  returned 
to  us,  I  have  missed  you  so  very  much  !  I  was  almost 
afraid  that  you  would  not  come  to  us  again,  our  house  is 
so  sad  and  lonely." 

"  Did  you  think  that  I  could  leave  you  in  the  midst  of 
sorrow  ?"  asked  Aldeane,  gently  and  reproachfully. 

"  Dear  Aldeane,  nothing  can  ever  repay  you  for  your 
kindness  to  us.  Promise  me,  darling,  that  you  will  not 
leave  us  again  while  Leonore  lives.  '  There  is  no  hope 
for  her,'  say  all  the  physicians  that  the  colonel  has  con 
sulted.  I  expect  them  home  daily ;  my  only  fear  was 
that  they  would  arrive  before  you.  Leonore  so  longs  to 
see  you,  that  the  disappointment  would  hare  been  dread 
ful  to  her." 

Aldeane  endeavored  to  cheer  the  affectionate  step 
mother,  whose  nervous  state  she  noticed  with  extreme 
sorrow,  fearing  to  agitate  her  by  the  emotion  which  she 
could  not  repress,  she  retired  to  her  own  chamber,  to  rest 
and  recover  from  the  fatigue  of  her  journey. 

A  few  days  after  her  return,  as  she  was  passing  through 
the  hall,  Mrs.  Arendell  opened  the  door  of  her  chamber, 
and  asked  her  in  a  subdued  voice  to  enter.  She  had  been 
weeping  violently,  and  an  open  letter  edged  with  black 
was  in  her  hand. 

"  Mrs.  Arendell !"  exclaimed  Aldeane  in  terror,  "  tell 
me  what  has  happened." 

"  Poor  Annie  is  dead !"  she  sobbed. 

Aldeane  sank  upon  a  chair,  repeating  the  words  in  a 
bewildered  manner,  her  heart  beating  with  emotion,  she 
could  not  herself  define. 

"  Ah !  I  knew  you  would  sympathize  with  us !"  said 
Mrs.  Arendell,  as  Aldeane  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  striving  to  collect  her  thoughts,  and  master  the 
dizziness  that  blurred  her  sight.  Strange  feelings  agitated 
her  soul ;  pity  for  the  young  and  beautiful  departed  cer 
tainly  predominated,  but  thoughts  that  made  her  heart 


300  ALDEANE. 

throb  wildly  would  come.     It  was  some  minutes  before 
she  could  command  her  voice  sufficiently  to  ask : — 

"  When  did  she  die  ?" 

' "  On  the  twenty-first  day  of  February.  They  were 
making  preparations  for  their  return  home,  when  she 
failed  so  perceptibly  that  the  project  had  to  be  aban 
doned.  For  some  days  she  lay  as  weak  as  an  infant  upon 
her  bed,  perfectly  resigned  to  death.  Frederic  never  for 
a  moment  left  her,  and  she  breathed  her  last  in  his  arms, 
as  peacefully  as  if  she  had  fallen  asleep." 

"And  in  such  a  becoming  wrapper,  just  as  she  had 
hoped  she  would,"  Leonore  says.  "You  know  Annie  was 
so  particular,"  she  added,  turning  to  her  without  the 
slightest  perception  that  there  was  something  almost 
laughable  in  what  she  had  said. 

But  there  was  no  one  there  who  felt  the  slightest  incli 
nation  to  laugh,  even  when  she  further  said,  that  Annie 
had  caused  her  hair  to  be  put  in  papers  the  night  before 
her  death,  that  in  case  such  an  event  should  take  place, 
she  might  appear  to  the  best  advantage  in  her  coffin, 
and  even  Aldeane  thrust  from  her  mind  these  trivialities 
which,  to  many,  would  have  rendered  a  rival  contempti 
ble,  and  thanked  God,  that  she  had  died  happily,  that 
the  sunshine  of  life  hacl  continued  to  her,  even  to  the 
mysterious  and  awful  entrance  to  Eternity. 

"  When,  now,  do  you  expect  Colonel  Arendell  and  Leo 
nore  ?"  she  asked,  anxious  to  divert  her  mind  from  the 
thoughts  that  thronged  and  confused  it. 

"The  first  of  next  week,"  was  the  reply.  "After 
Monday,  I  shall  send  the  carriage  to  Loring  every  day, 
in  anticipation  of  their  arrival.  I  shall  send  for  Frank, 
to-morrow ;  he  is  so  anxious  to  see  you,  that  I  know  he  is 
impatient  at  my  long  delay,  besides  I  want  him  here  to 
meet  Leonore,  that  all  the  family  may  be  present,  and 
make  it  as  cheerful  and  pleasant  as  possible  for  her." 

Jessie  and  Eddie  entered  the  room  hastily.     "  Oh,  mam- 


ALDEANE.  301 

ma !"  they  exclaimed,  "  Aunt  Roxy  says,  Aunt  Annie  is 
dead!  Is  it  so  ?" 

They  saw  the  answer  in  the  tear-stained  faces  and 
sorrow-stricken  appearance  of  the  two  ladies.  Their 
noisy  exclamations  were  hushed,  and  when  Mrs.  Arendell 
gently  told  them  that  it  was  true,  they  regarded  each 
other  with  wondering  looks,  a  feeling  of  awe  stealing 
over  them,  as  they  heard  that  she  was  indeed  numbered 
with  the  dead. 

"  Is  Uncle  Fred  coming  home  with  papa  ?  Will  he 
come  here  ?"  inquired  Eddie. 

A  crimson  flush,  which  she  bent  low  to  conceal,  mount 
ed  to  Aldeane's  face,  and  her  heart  beat  wildly  as  she 
awaited  the  answer. 

"  No,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Arendell.  "  Your  uncle  will  go 
immediately  to  Boston  ;  he  will  bring  your  aunt  from 
Cuba  to  be  buried  in  the  family  ground." 

"  Ah !  indeed !  I  might  have  remembered  that," 
thought  Aldeane,  with  a  feeling  of  relief.  Then  taking 
Eddie  and  Jessie,  she  left  the  room,  to  allow  Mrs. 
Arendell  the  charm  of  solitude,  in  which  to  recover 
from  the  eiFects  occasioned  by  the  death  of  her  young 
relative. 

The  remainder  of  the  week  was  spent  in  preparation 
for  the  return  of  the  travelers.  Aunt  Roxy  was  in  her 
full  glory,  superintending  the  host  of  young  darkies 
that  were  engaged  in  cleaning  the  house,  and  beautifying 
and  clearing  the  grounds.  A  state  of  almost  hopeless 
confusion  prevailed,  in  the  midst  of  which  Frank  came 
home.  He  had  grown  much  during  the  few  months  that 
Aldeane  had  been  separated  from  him,  and  she  looked 
with  increased  love  and  pride  upon  her  former  pupil; 
now  a  handsome  lad  of  fourteen,  the  favorite  of  the 
school,  and  the  pride  of  the  class  of  which  he  was  a 
member.  Still  as  much  as  ever  he  delighted  in  boyish 
sports  and  adventures,  and  the  next  day  after  his  return 


302  ALDEANE. 

home,  with  a  fishing-rod  on  one  shoulder,  and  a  gun 
over  the  other,  he  set  off,  followed  by  his  favorite  Jule, 
and  returned  at  night,  flushed  with  exercise,  carrying  a 
brace  of  rabbits,  while  his  attendant  bore  in  triumph  a 
string  of  fish,  which  he  declared,  with  admiration, 
"Young  Mass'r  done  cotched  all  by  hisself!" 

"  Frank,"  said  Aldeane,  laughing,  "  how  do  you  exist 
at  school,  where  you  can  not  hunt  ?" 

"  Well,  it  is  hard  work  sure  enough !"  he  replied,  "  but 
I'll  make  up  for  it  now  that  I  am  at  home,  besides 
Chauncey  Gardner  and  I  have  pledged  each  other  for 
a  fine  ten  days'  hunt  next  vacation.  I  wish  he  was  here 
now,  he  is  a  splendid  fellow.  Now  there's  Ed,  fit  for 
nothing  but  to  follow  mamma  or  you  all  over  the  house ; 
pshaw !" 

"  You  are  altogether  mistaken,  Frank,  Edward  will  be 
the  wonder  of  the  family  yet,  he  has  taken  to  studying 
so  of  late,  that  I  really  believe  he  is  as  far  advanced  in 
many  studies  as  you  are.  Be  careful,  sir,  or  you  will  find 
your  laurels  gone,  and  crowning  Edward's  brow !" 

Frank,  laughing  heartily,  turned  and  glanced  at  his 
brother.  "  What  profession  shall  you  choose  ?"  he  asked 
merrily. 

"  I  am  going  to  study  medicine  with  Uncle  Fred,"  he 
returned  quietly,  then  turned  away  annoyed  and  ashamed 
by  the  burst  of  laughter  with  which  Frank  greeted  this 
announcement. 

Frank  was  at  his  side  in  a  moment.  "  I  hope  you  will 
be  successful,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  always  be  a  lazy  fellow. 
You  must  redeem  the  name  of  the  family  from  oblivion 
by  your  good  works.  I  will  stay  at  home  and  take  care 
of  the  negroes  and  plantation,  while  you  ride  about  dis 
pensing  bitter  pills  and  draughts,  to  your  heart's  content, 
and  the  discontent  and  benefit  of  every  one  else." 

Aldeane  left  the  boys  in  earnest  debate,  and  went  to  re 
mind  Mrs.  Arendell  that  it  was  time  to  send  the  carriage 


ALDEANE.  303 

to  Loring.     It  was  already  gone,  but  returned  without 
the  travelers. 

The  next  day,  however,  they  arrived.  Leonore  far 
more  fragile  than  when  she  left,  was  also  more  beautiful. 
A  faint  glow  produced  by  excitement  tinged  her  cheek, 
giving  a  bright  luster  to  her  large  eyes,  which  shone  fit 
fully  and  wildly  from  out  her  thin  face.  She  wept  tears 
of  joy  upon  her  mother's  bosom,  and  could  but  faintly 
speak  to  Aldeane,  to  express  her  joy  at  seeing  her 
there. 

After  the  noisy  greetings  from  the  servants  and  chil 
dren  were  over,  a  feeling  of  intense  fatigue  overwhelmed 
her.  Aldeane  noticed  the  gradual  paling  of  cheek  and 
lips,  and  the  weariness  that  lay  in  her  eyes.  She  pressed 
her  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine,  and  then  ascended  with  her 
to  her  own  room.  She  seemed  much  affected  to  find  her 
self  once  more  within  its  loved  and  peaceful  shelter.  Un 
resistingly  she  suffered  Aldeane  to  undress  her  ;  she  asked 
but  few  questions,  and  said  nothing  of  what  had  trans 
pired  during  her  absence.  The  bed  upon  which  she  had 
slept  from  childhood,  seemed  to  invite  her  once  more  to 
repose  ;  exhausted  both  in  body  and  mind,  she  soon  sank 
into  a  deep  sleep.  Aldeane  bent  over  the  dying  beauty, 
and  sorrowing  saw  how  plainly  her  doom  was  stamped 
upon  her  brow.  She  lifted  the  white  hand,  that  lay  upon 
her  bosom,  and  saw  George  Raymond's  likeness  tightly 
clasped  within  it.  She  dropped  a  kiss  upon  the  slightly 
parted  Ijps,  and  left  her  to  her  calm  repose. 

On  descending  to  the  sitting-room,  she  saw  with  joy 
that  the  trip  had  benefited  at  least  one  of  the  party. 
Colonel  Arendell  seemed  to  have  recovered  the  good 
health  which  he  had  enjoyed  in  former  years ;  his  spirits, 
saddened  by  the  evident  dissolution  of  his  favorite  child, 
on  other  subjects  were  hopeful  and  buoyant.  He  was  re 
joiced  once  more  to  be  in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  and 
listened  attentivelv  to  the  tales  the  children  related  of 


304  ALDEANE.. 

their  progress  during  his  absence,  and  in  return  related 
some  of  his  own  adventures. 

After  an  early  tea  the  children  were  dismissed,  and 
Colonel  and  Mrs.  Arendell  with  Aldeane  gathered  around 
the  fire,  to  hear  of  those  more  solemn  events  that  had 
recently  transpired. 

Colonel  Arendell  spoke  -of  Mrs.  Morgan's  death  in 
tones  of  quiet  sorrow.  "  Though  gentle  and  beautiful," 
he  remarked,  "  she  was  totally  unfit  to  be  Frederic's 
wife.  Cold  and  impassionless  herself,  she  could  never 
comprehend  or  assimilate  with  his  ardent,  impulsive  na 
ture.  She  seemed  to  esteem  and  respect  him,  but  never 
to  give  him  that  true,  deep  love,  which  he  craved.  In 
return,  Fred,  I  am  sure,  regarded  her  with  that  affection 
which  we  bestow  upon  a  lovely  child.  Though  perfectly 
devoted  to  her  in  her  sickness,  he  mourned  not  her 
death  as  the  direful  loss  of  a  loving  wife — but  rather  as 
that  of  a  petted  child,  whose  prattle  he  would  miss,  and 
whose  beauty  he  could  no  more  hope  to  behold." 

Aldeane  found  a  few  tears  trickling  through  her  fin 
gers,  as  she  bent  her  head  upon  her  hand  and  thought  of 
the  early  dead.  No  thought  but  of  pity  and  sorrow 
entered  her  mind,  as  she  listened  to  Colonel  Arendell's 
account  of  her  lingering  and  painful  illness  and  death. 

All  retired  early  to  rest.  Aldeane  went  in  to  look 
at  Leonore.  She  still  slept,  breathing  heavily,  and  turn 
ing  restlessly.  Aldeane  sighed  as  she  marked  these  and 
other  symptoms  of  the  fell  disease  that  had  marked  her 
for  its  victim.  She  remembered  Annie,  and  shuddered 
to  think  that  this  beautiful  and  amiable  young  creature 
so  soon  also  would  sleep  the  last  long  sleep  that  knows  no 
earthly  waking. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  DROOPING  FLOWER  FADES. 

A  FEW  days  after  the  return  of  the  travelers  Frank 
went  back  to  school,  while  Eddie  and  Jessie  resumed 
their  wonted  avocations  in  the  school-room.  The  hours 
of  study  were  shortened,  in  order  that  Aldeane  might 
frequently  be  with  Leonore,  who  seemed  never  so  happy 
as  when  in  her  company. 

As  the  warm  spring  days  came  on,  they  took  many  a 
lingering  walk  along  the  banks  of  the  river,  resting,  when 
Leonore  grew  weary,  beneath  some  freshly  budding  tree, 
listening  with  pensive  feelings  to  the  waves  that  rippled 
by,  and  to  the  birds  that  caroled  forth  the  joy  that 
dwelt  in  their  hearts  in  songs  of  praise  to  their  Maker. 
Many  a  strange  old  legend,  or  quaint  story,  Aldeane  re 
lated  to  awaken  the  interest  and  smiles  of  her  drooping 
auditor ;  many  a  sweet  poem  did  she  read,  and  her  voice 
often  rose  in  tender  melody  to  cheer  her  for  whom  tale,  or 
poem,  or  song  no  longer  possessed  a  charm.  But  with — 

"  A  feeling  of  sadness,  and  longing 

That  is  nor  akin  to  pain, 
And  resembles  sorrow  only, 
As  the  mist  resembles  the  rain," 

she  would  lay  her  head  in  Aldeane's  lap,  and  speak  of 
death,  and  long  for  it. 

The  beauty  of  the  budding  year  was  typical  to  her  of 
the  far  exceeding  loveliness  of  the  heavenly  land.  She 
longed  to  wander  beside  the  river  of  life,  and  pluck  the 


ALDEANE. 

everlasting  flowers.  She  had  prepared  her  soul  for  the 
great  change  that  had  come  upon  her.  She  had  knelt  at 
the  Saviour's  feet,  and  drawn  consolation  and  faith  from 
His  teachings.  The  Bible  was  the  only  volume  upon 
which  she  now  looked  with  pleasure,  or  from  which 
Aldeane  could  draw  aught  to  arouse  her  feelings,  and 
compose  her  mind. 

As  the  months  fled,  the  tender  watchers  around  her 
saw  that  she  was  quickly  passing  away.  Gently,  and 
without  pain,  she  was  hastening  downward  to  the  tomb ; 
hastily  her  frail  bark  was  gliding  down  the  river  of  life, 
and  nearing  the  dark  shores  of  eternity,  but  to  her  they 
were  fair  and  beautiful ;  the  house  of  her  God  in  all  its 
celestial  grandeur  stood  ready  to  receive  her,  and  angels 
to  bear  to  its  inmost  courts.  Ere  May  had  scattered  all 
its  wealth  of  beauty  over  the  earth,  Leonore  lay  down 
upon  her  couch,  never  more  to  tread  the  paths  now  redo 
lent  with  sweets,  or  to  gaze  upon  the  luxuriance  of  the 
blushing  month. 

Too  weak  to  sit  up  unless  supported  by  pillows,  she 
reclined  upon  her  bed,  which  was  drawn  close  to  the 
window,  that  she  might  breathe  the  sweet  fragrance  from 
the  garden  below,  and  catch  glimpses  of  its  beauty. 

Altogether  released  from  the  duties  of  the  school-room, 
Aldeane  remained  constantly  with  her,  devoting  herself 
to  the  task  of  attending  upon  her,  night  and  day  she  was 
alike  at  her  post,  snatching  a  few  moments'  sleep  at 
uncertain  intervals,  and  seeking  air  only  when  she  ran 
into  the  garden  at  early  morn,  to  cull  the  sweetest  buds 
for  the  invalid  when  the  dew  was  still  upon  them.  No 
other  seemed  to  smooth  the  pillows  so  well,  or  to  pre 
pare  each  little  dainty  so  delicately ;  no  voice  was  toned 
so  lovr,  yet  so  distinctly  as  hers,  and  above  all,  none,  not 
even  her  tender  mother,  seemed  so  well  to  understand 
her  bruised  heart,  and  to  guard  its  secrets  so  carefully. 
When  Aldeane  left  the  room,  she  would  never  speak  of 


ALDEANE.  SOT 

her,  but  rest  her  gaze  upon  the  door,  and  when  she  would 
enter,  a  smile  would  light  up  her  pale  face,  speaking 
plainly  of  her  satisfaction. 

She  endeavored  in  every  way  to  console  her  parents 
for  the  irreparable  loss  they  were  about  to  sustain.  She 
talked  to  them  of  heaven  in  her  untaught  eloquence, 
speaking  powerfully  to  their  hearts  of  her  confident 
assurance  of  a  heavenly  inheritance,  entreating  them  to 
meet  her  there.  After  such  conversations,  which  on 
account  of  her  extreme  weakness  were  not  frequent,  they 
left  her  feeling  as  if  an  angel  had  spoken. 

She  said  little  of  George  Raymond.  She  felt  that 
mention  of  his  name  caused  feeling  of  the  deepest  pain 
to  her  parents,  as  they  justly  considered  him  the  prin 
cipal  cause  of  her  early  death.  A  few  days  before  her 
death,  she  begged  them  to  exonerate  him  from  all  blame, 
as  she  was  perfectly  happy  in  the  thought  of  meeting 
him  and  them  in  an  ever-glorious  and  endless  eternity. 
She  asked  that  the  little  writing-desk  he  had  given  her 
might  be  brought  to  her,  and  for  a  short  time,  until  her 
strength  gave  way,  she  each  day  wrote  a  few  lines.  The 
letter  at  last  was  finished,  and  she  gave  it  to  her  father, 
begging  him  not  to  open  it  until  after  her  death  and 
burial,  and  that  then  the  will  therein  contained  should 
be  faithfully  executed.  With  a  bursting  heart  he  gave 
the  required  promise,  and  with  a  heavenly  smile  irradiat 
ing  her  features,  she  turned  her  face  from  the  beauties  of 
the  world  around  her,  as  if  all  her  earthly  cares  were 
ended,  and  she  was  ready  to  die. 

She  now  continued  rapidly  to  decline  ;  the  vital  spark 
seemed  scarce  to  glow,  so  faintly  was  it  seen.  Calmly, 
powerlessly,  she  awaited  the  approach  of  Azrael ;  his 
dark  wings  were  poised  above  her,  and  the  shadow  of 
his  coming  lay  upon  her  brow.  The  physicians  had 
assured  the  family  that  only  a  few  hours  of  life  remained 
to  her,  and  at  nightfall  a  stricken  group  gathered  in  her 


308  ALDEANE. 

room.  Frank  had  been  recalled  from  school,  and  as 
usual  he  came  in  with  the  other  children  to  bid  Leonore 
good-night.  The  parting  was  more  tender  than  usual. 
Eddie  and  Jessie  went  away  weeping  silently  with  a 
bitter  pain  they  could  not  understand  grasping  their 
young  hearts.  Frank,  struck  by  the  coldness  of  the  hand 
he  held,  and  the  spiritual  beauty  of  the  wan  face,  whis 
pered  to  his  mother : — 

"  I  can  not  go  ;  please  let  me  stay." 

She  nodded  assent,  and  he  took  his  station  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  watching  intently  every  change  that  passed 
over  his  sister's  face. 

A  dim  taper  burned  at  one  end  of  the  room ;  the  moon 
shone  brightly  through  the  windows  from  which  the 
curtains  had  been  drawn  back,  that  Leonore  might  once 
more  gaze  upon  the  glorious  effulgence  of  the  summer 
night.  The  silvery  rays  lay  lightly  \ipon  the  form  of  the 
dying  girl,  and  over  the  silent  group  gathered  around 
her. 

The  family  physician  with  Colonel  Arendell  stood  at 
the  head  of  the  bed,  while  Aldeane  and  Mrs.  Arendell 
sat  one  on  each  side,  often  moving  noiselessly  from  their 
stations  to  bring  some  strengthening  draught  or  restor 
ative.  Leonore  lay  quietly  breathing  her  life  away ;  her 
eyes  gazing  steadily  forward,  their  luster  each  moment 
growing  fainter.  Her  mind  seemed  entirely  gone.  The 
doctor  administered  a  powerful  stimulant,  which  for  a 
short  time  aroused  her  dormant  faculties.  She  recognized 
those  who.  stood  near  her,  and  calmly  bade  them  farewell, 
giving  to  each  some  word  of  cheer,  and  as  they  wept 
feebly  exhorted  them  not  to  grieve,  for  she  was  about  to 
enter  into  eternal  bliss,  where  she  should  never  more  feel 
sorrow  or  pain.  Aldeane  she  sweetly  thanked  for  all  her 
care  and  love,  and  clasping  her  arms  around  her  begged 
that  she  would  repeat  the  psalm  she  had  herself  read  to 
dying  Abel.  Though  tears  choked  her  voice,  Aldeane 


ALDEANE.  301) 

complied,  and  then  sang  a  sweet  and  favorite  hymn,  but 
Leonore  again  sank  into  a  state  of  apparent  insensibility ; 
all  expected  to  see  her  spirit  take  its  flight ;  she  lay  so 
still  that  they  almost  believed  her  already  dead.  The 
light  was  fading  from  her  eyes,  bnt  once  more  they  were 
lighted  up,  the  deep-toned  clock  upon  the  staircase  rang 
forth  the  hour  of  nine.  She  started  slightly  from  her 
pillow,  and  cried  faintly : — 

"  George,  my  darling,  wait  for  me  !  The  stoi'm  rushes 
by,  and  the  water  is  deep ;  clasp  me  in  your  arms,  and 
we  will  brave  the  torrent  together !" 

She  then  sank  back,  exhausted  by  the  effort.  All  for  the 
first  time  remembered  that  this  was  the  anniversary  of 
the  day  of  George  Raymond's  death,  and  about  the  hour 
that  Mr.  Blake  had  heard  his  voice  in  the  storm.  To  her 
dying  imagination  had  been  cleai-ly  presented  all  the  hor 
rors  of  the  awful  scene. 

All  knelt  around  the  bed,  and  the  words  of  prayer 
arose  amid  the  sobs  of  the  mourners.  The  voice  of  the 
heart-broken  was  deep  with  anguish  as  he  petitioned 
eternal  felicity  for  his  child,  And  comfort  for  those  who 
were  to  be  bereaved. 

They  arose  from  their  knees  and  gazed  once  more  upon 
the  dying  girl.  Her  face  for  a  moment  became  glorious, 
and  her  lips  moved.  Colonel  Arendell  bent  eagerly  for 
ward  and  caught  the  whisper,  "  With  thee  !  in  heaven  at 
last !" 

The  light  faded  from  her  eyes,  her  brow  grew  dark, 
and  her  father  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  that  he 
might  not  see  her  die.  Sobs  alone  broke  the  stillness. 
For  a  few  moments  not  a  voice  was  heard ;  then  arose 
that  of  the  doctor,  who  had  bent  over  her,  saying : — 

"  She  sleeps  in  Jesus." 

Her  spirit  had  indeed  returned  to  the  God  who  gave  it. 
Leonore  Arendell  was  numbered  with  the  angels. 


310  ALDEANE. 

"  For  her  the  heavenly  gate  was  moved  so  gently  from  its  portal, 
The  tender  watchers  scarcely  knew  when  she  became  immortal." 

A  wail  of  agony  broke  from  each  desolate  heart.  Not 
a  tear  dropped  from  Colonel  Arendell  as  he  bent  in  stony 
grief  over  the  form  of  his  beloved  child.  Mrs.  Arendell, 
on  the  contrary,  gave  vent  to  the  most  heart-rending 
cries ;  with  their  arms  around  each  other,  Frank  and  she 
wept  heart-brokenly.  Calm  and  self-possessed,  though 
grieving  even  as  deeply  as  they,  Aldeane  turned  from  the 
beautiful  dead  to  comfort  the  mourners.  She  soon  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  them  from  the  room ;  to  Colonel  Aren 
dell  she  could  say  nothing.  The  deepest  agony  was 
depicted  upon  his  countenance.  The  doctor  took  his  arm 
to  lead  him  away ;  he  looked  up  wildly,  and  a  low,  bitter 
moan  broke  from  his  lips. 

"  My  dear  colonel,  I  beg  you  to  come  away  !"  said  the 
kind-hearted  gentleman.  "  Think  of  your  wife — how 
much  she  needs  your  support  at  this  trying  hour." 

Here  a  servant  entered,  and  said  that  Mrs.  Ai-endell 
was  in  violent  hysterics.  With  a  word  of  entreaty  to  the 
colonel,  he  left  the  room.  .Bending  to  impress  one  long, 
lingering  kiss  upon  the  sweetly  smiling  lips  of  his  dead 
daughter,  the  desolate  father  left  the  chamber,  and  a  mo 
ment  afterward  Aldeane  heard  the  clang  of  the  library 
door,  and  knew  that  he  had  shut  himself  in  to  indulge  his 
speechless  grief. 

A  number  of  servants  had  crowded  into  the  room,  and 
were  loudly  lamenting  the  death  of  their  young  mistress. 
Almost  distracted  by  the  confusion  that  prevailed,  Aldeane 
ordered  all  but  Aunt  Iloxy  and  Zettie  to  leave  the  room. 
Slowly  and  sorrowfully  they  obeyed,  and  those  that  re 
mained  were  ere  long  engaged  in  the  sacred  task  of  robing 
the  dead  for  burial.  They  found  one  hand  resting  upon 
her  bosom,  tight  clasping  the  miniature  of  Raymond ;  it 
was  not  withdrawn,  but  permitted  still  to  rest  upon  the 
heart  that  had  cherished  the  original  so  long  and  fatally. 


ALDEANE.  311 

As  Leonore  had  desired,  the  garments  that  had  been 
prepared  for  her  wedding  formed  those  of  the  grave. 
When  all  was  finished,  Aldeane  left  the  room,  with  the 
intention  of  going  to  her  own.  In  the  hall  she  met  Doc 
tor  Grey ;  he  told  her  that  Mrs.  Arendell  was  sleeping  qui 
etly  from  the  effects  of  the  potion  he  had  administered. 
He  begged  her  to  try  to  obtain  rest;  but  though  she 
went  into  her  chamber,  it  was  not  to  seek  sleep,  but  to 
pray  for  strength  and  comfort ;  then  bathing  her  burning 
face  and  hands,  she  returned  to  the  death-chamber  to 
keep  watch  beside  the  beautiful  clay  of  Leonore. 

A  dim  light  shone  in  the  room  as  she  entered.  The  ser 
vants,  silently  and  tearfully,  stood  near  the  door.  The  sheet 
was  drawn  down,  revealing  the  beautiful  form  of  Leonore 
arrayed  in  pearly  silk  and  costly  lace ;  the  hands,  folded 
upon  the  breast,  were  waxen  and  white,  but  a  faint  tint 
rested  upon  lips  and  cheeks,  giving  almost  the  warmth  of 
life  to  the  immovable  features.  Colonel  Arendell  knelt  be 
side  the  low  couch,  one  arm  thrown  over  the  body,  in  an 
attitude  of  utter  abandonment.  At  the  sound  of  Aldeane's 
well-known  footsteps,  he  lifted  his  head.  His  face  was 
wonderfully  changed  by  grief.  In  a  few  hours  he  seemed 
to  have  grown  years  older.  Wearily  he  arose.  Noticing 
Aldeane's  pale  and  tear-stained  countenance,  a  feeling  of 
pity  for  her  entered  his  heart.  Taking  her  hand,  he  led 
her  to  the  side  of  the  bed. 

"  You,  too,"  he  said,  "  have  come  to  grieve  over  this 
precious  child  !  O  God !  why  was  the  retribution  so 
heavy !"  A  groan  completed  the  sentence,  and  he  sank 
into  a  chair,  covering  his  face  with  his  quivering 
hands. 

Aldeane  went  to  the  other  side  of  the  bed  and  sat  down, 
leaning  her  head  upon  her  hand,  and  fixing  her  eyes  upon 
the  calm,  sweet  face  of  the  precious  dead.  Thus  began 
the  long,  silent  vigil  of  the  two  mourners,  that  ended  not 
till— 


312  ALDEANE. 

"  The  stars  went  softly  back  to  heaven, 

The  night  fogs  rolled  away, 
And  rims  of  gold  and  crowns  of  crimson 
Along  the  lull-tops  lay." 

Two  days  later  they  placed  Leonore  Arendell — she 
who,  in  each  loving  soul,  was  named  the  broken-hearted — 
beside  her  lover.  And  for  months,  no  gleam  of  joy  dwelt 
in  Arendell  House.  Yet  even  the  saddest  there  could  not 
but  feel  that  to  her  who  was  taken  the  change  was  glori 
ous  ;  for  had  she  lived  it  would  have  been  as  a  broken 
hearted  woman.  She  had  not  been  blessed  with  the 
strength  of  mind  which  would  have  enabled  her  to  rise 
above  the  terrible  sorrow  that  had  fallen  upon  her  young 
life.  And  knowing  all  this,  resignation  tempered  the 
grief  of  her  friends ;  not  such  resignation  as  is  but  an 
other  name  for  callousness,  but  that  which  through  tears 
exclaims,  "  The  Lord  knoweth  best.  The  will  of  the  Lord 
be  done." 

And  it  was  with  such  feelings  as  these  Aldeane  penned 
the  following  lines,  lines  which,  perhaps,  comforted  more 
than  any  other  words  could  have  done,  the  bruised  heart 
of  the  remorseful  and  penitent  father.  He  called  them 
his  comfort,  but  the  writer  named  them — 

"THE    ANGEL   DEATH. 

"  The  gates  of  Heaven  ope'd  wide  one  day, 

And  an  angel  left  its  peaceful  shade, 
And  sped  to  earth  his  quiet  way. 
Full  mournful  was  his  solemn  lay, 

Like  spirit  meanings  as  they  fade. 

"  Sable  and  glistening  were  his  wings, 
And  shadows  ever  around  him  dwelt. 

As  coldness  which  the  autumn  brings!, 

When  early  frost  around  it  clings, 
So  was  the  angel's  presence  felt 


ALDEANE.  313 

"  The  silvery  tresses  of  the  moon 

Lay  on  the  bosom  of  the  quiet  air, 
A  web  of  tracery,  that  soon 
"Would  vanish  in  the  deep'ning  gloom, 

That  comes  before  the  daylight  fair. 

"  The  angel  with  his  powerful  hands 

The  beauteous  radiance  quickly  cleft, 
And  far  behind  him  lay  the  bands, 
Like  shadows  on  the  desert  sands, 

Of  rolling  darkness  he  had  left. 

"  He  touched  the  golden  harp  he  bore — 

And  lingering  numbers  sweet  and  low, 
Whispered  to  earth  the  mystic  lore, 
By  which  the  seraphs  God  implore 

Mercy  on  erring  man  below. 

"  To  one  on  earth  that  sound  was  heard, 

And  smiles  of  peace  passed  o'er  her  face- 
Like  clearest  notes  of  joyous  bird, 
She  seemed  to  hear  the  heavenly  word — 
'  Come  rest  ye,  child  of  love  and  grace ' 

"  She  lay  upon  her  couch  so  fair ; 

Bright  through  the  casement  looked  the  moon, 
And  bars  of  silver  on  her  hair, 
Gleamed  softly  white  and  strangely  there, 

Like  sunbeams  through  a  darkened  room. 

"  She  knew  that  through  the  casement  low, 

Came  in  the  angel — Death, 
She  heard  the  rush  of  his  dark  wings  slow, 
She  saw  strange  light  around  him  glow, 
And  felt  his  withering  breath. 

"  Her  hands  were  clasped  upon  her  breast — 

Her  eyes  looked  up  to  heaven ; 
She  knew  not  those  who  round  her  pressed 
She  saw  alone  her  endless  rest — 

Her  thoughts  from  earth  were  riven. 
14 


314  A  L  DEA  NE. 

"  Bitter  they  wept  on  earth  that  night ; 

For  the  spirit  so  lovely  and  kind, 
Had  taken  to  God  its  joyous  flight — 
To  its  home  of  beauty  and  ceaseless  light- 

And  had  left  but  a  smile  behind." 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

RETRIBUTION   BEGIXS. 

THE  summer  came  slowly  on,  casting  its  wealth  of  fra 
grance  and  beauty  over  the  earth,  little  heeded  by  those 
at  Arendell  House.  Death  falls  with  a  shock  upon  loving 
hearts,  and  though  long  expected,  it  had  not  failed  to 
make  its  due  impression  there.  Still  so  deeply  was  Leo- 
nore  mourned,  that  a  solemn  feeling  of  loneliness  hung 
over  all.  Mrs.  Arendell  spoke  of  her  with  quiet  tears ; 
Aldeane  thought  of  her  very  sorrowfully ;  but  Colonel 
Arendell  seemed  totally  changed  by  grief. 


"The  sulphurous  rifts  of  passion  and  woe 


Lay  deep  'neath  a  surface  pure  and  smooth — 
Like  burnt-out  craters  healed  with  suow." 

Calmly  and  gently,  never  mentioning  her,  for  whom  he 
grieved  so  deeply,  he  attended  to  his  duties.  More  fre 
quently  than  ever  he  retired  to  his  library,  where,  as  she 
passed  the  windows,  Aldeane  would  see  him  with  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands,  or  with  weary  steps  pacing  the 
apartment.  Often,  too,  he  went  to  Leonore's  grave,  and 
passed  the  closing  hours  of  day  in  lonely  reverie.  Xot 
all  the  gentle  wiles  of  his  wife  and  children  could  win 
him  from  the  over-mastering  grief  for  the  loss  of  the  child 
of  his  first  love. 

To  Aldeane  the  days  passed  drearily.  Stillness  and 
sorrow  at  home,  required  the  brightness  of  joy  from 
without,  to  cheer  and  comfort  her;  but  this  came  not. 
Each  letter  from  Arthur  brought  some  fresh  tale  of  dis- 


316  ALDEANE. 

aster.  Nevins  was  at  work  most  bitterly  against  him. 
The  unfortunate  loss  of  a  most  important  case,  turned  the 
popular  tide  still  more  against  him.  Mr.  Halcombe  had 
withdrawn  from  the  firm,  and  was  his  successful  rival. 
Arthur  was  perfectly  discouraged,  and  even  Mr.  Ashton 
had  begun  to  despair  of  his  ultimate  success.  It  was 
concluded  that  Arthur  must  leave  Boston  and  seek  pros 
perity  elsewhere.  With  many  tears,  Belle  heard  this  de 
cision,  and  for  some  time  could  not  consent  to  give  up 
her  beautiful  new  home,  and  find  a  lowlier  elsewhere :  but 
for  even  this  she  was  prepared,  when  a  most  unexpected 
event  turn  the  tide  of  affairs. 

A  rumor  was  whispered  in  Boston  one  day,  that  the 
wealthy  and  aristocratic  Jonas  Kevins  had  been  arrested. 
None  knew  for  what.  The  voice  grew  louder  and  louder, 
and  at  last  the  astounding  intelligence  spread  over  the 
city,  that  the  alleged  crime  was  perjury. 

Arthur  Guthrie  was  not  seen  much  upon  the  streets  at 
this  time,  for  he  shunned  inquiry,  but  the  curious  public, 
interested  as  they  suddenly  became  upon  his  affairs,  would 
have  been  far  more  so,  had  they  known  that  the  gentleman, 
who  frequented  his  house  in  company  with  Mr.  Ashton 
and  Charles  Evans,  was  the  mysterious  prosecutor  of  the 
renowned  Jonas  Nevins. 

Aldeane  was,  of  course,  immediately  apprised  of  what 
had  occurred,  or  at  least  as  much  of  it  as  was  known  to  the 
public.  Arthur,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  kept 
back  many  particulars,  which  she  intuitively  felt  he  could 
have  disclosed,  and  which  materially  heightened  the  curi 
osity  and  anxiety  she  felt  concerning  this  unlooked-for 
event. 

A  few  days  after  she  received  the  news,  Colonel  Aren- 
dell  entered  the  house,  in  a  state  of  great  excitement,  and 
passing  Aldeane  upon  the  stairs,  without,  in  his  distrac 
tion,  perceiving  her,  he  opened  the  door  of  his  wife's  room, 
and  said,  in  a  sort  of  horrified  whisper : — 


ALDEANE.  317 

"  Ida !  Ida,  William  is  coming  home !  My  brother  is 
coming !" 

There  was  an  exclamation  of  the  greatest  surprise  from 
Mrs.  Arendell,  then  Aldeane  heard  no  more,  but  that 
little  convinced  her  that  a  mystery  existed  in  the  family 
of  which  she  had  hitherto  been  perfectly  ignorant.  She 
remembered  that  she  had  occasionally  heard  of  a  William 
Arendell,  especially  at  the  time  of  the  discovery  of 
George  Raymond's  parentage ;  but  she  had  always  sup 
posed  him  dead.  She  remembered  well  that  she  had 
found  the  picture  of  a  young  man  under  a  file  of  old 
papers  in  the  library,  whose  frank  handsome  countenance 
had  deeply  interested  her,  and  that  it  was  lying  on  the 
parlor  table  when  George  Raymond  arrived,  and  that  he 
looked  at  it,  sometimes  sorrowfully,  but  often  with  the 
glare  of  wild  passion  that  so  frequently  overspread  his 
face.  After  his  death  the  picture  had  disappeared,  and 
she  had  accounted  for  it,  by  supposing  that  it  raised  too 
many  sad  memories  of  his  dead  son.  But  that  this 
William  Arendell  still  existed,  she  had  never  for  a  mo 
ment  imagined,  and  to  know  the  cause  of  his  long  exile 
was  now  the  greatest  desire  of  her  mind. 

Neither  the  colonel  or  Mrs.  Arendell  mentioned  the 
subject  when  they  saw  her,  and  this  increased  her  aston 
ishment,  and  wish  to  penetrate  the  mystery. 

"  Surely,"  thought  she,  "  if  the  return  of  this  long-lost 
brother  was  the  occasion  of  joy  to  Colonel  Arendell,  he 
would  immediately  communicate  the  good  news  to  his 
friends  and  acquaintance.  I  have  not  heard  him  even 
speak  his  name.  It  is  indeed  most  strange." 

Several  days  had  passed.  Colonel  Arendell  had  be 
come  still  more  morose  and  gloomy,  and  his  wife  wore 
an  anxious  look.  Aldeane  had  received  no  letter  from 
Arthur,  at  which  she  was  greatly  surprised,  as  he  had 
given  her  no  particulars  of  the  arrest  of  Nevins,  and  she 
awaited  them  with  the  utmost  impatience.  So  much 


318  ALDEANE. 

engrossed  were  the  Arendells  in  their  own  secret,  that 
they  did  not  notice  that  any  thing  weighed  on  Aldeane's 
mind.  She  had  intended  to  tell  them  of  Nevins's  arrest, 
but  the  shame  attached  to  it,  and  her  ignorance  of  all 
particulars,  had  withheld  her  from  doing  so. 

The  August  sun  had  climbed  the  zenith,  and  the  family 
had  retired  to  different  parts  of  the  house  to  seek  quiet 
and  shade.  At  the  end  of  the  front  piazza  was  a  little 
arbor  formed  of  many  a  flowering  shrub  that  crept  over 
the  lattice;  a  little  rustic  seat  had  been  placed  there, 
and  many  hours  had  Leonore  and  Aldeane  spent  there 
together.  Thither,  with  a  favorite  book  for  company, 
Aldeane  now  retired,  and  in  the  most  remote  corner, 
where  she  could  see  no  one  without,  nor  be  seen  by  them, 
she  sat  down.  From  the  perusal  of  a  beautiful  poem, 
she  fell  into  a  tender  train  of  thought.  Her  brother, 
Belle,  Leonore,  and  Frederic  Morgan,  one  by  one  passed 
through  the  shadowy  vista  of  her  mind.  She  had  fallen 
into  a  day-dream  of  unusual  richness  and  beauty,  when 
she  was  startled  by  the  tones  of  well-known  voices.  One 
she  instantly  recognized  as  Colonel  Arendell's,  the  other, 
though  perfectly  familiar  to  her,  she  coiild  give  to  none 
of  her  present  acquaintances.  It  seemed  to  lead  her  a 
long  way  back  into  the  past,  and  to  scenes  altogether 
different  from  the  South.  AVhere  could  she  have  heard 
it  ?  She  arose  to  leave  the  little  alcove,  but  remembered 
that  the  only  entrance  was  near  the  end  of  the  piazza, 
and  that  she  would  be  siirely  seen  by  the  gentlemen ;  she 
looked  down  at  her  disordered  dress,  and  while  she  stood 
in  doubt,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  she  heard  the  stranger 
say  :— 

"  Yes,  colonel,  your  brother  has  arrived,  and  the  man 
who  for  years  has  stained  his  name  with  infamy  is 
secured  within  the  jail  at  Loring,  to  await  his  trial  at 
the  coming  sessions." 

"  You  of  cour.se  arc  aware."  said  the  colonel,  "  that  I 


ALDEANE.  319 

shall  be  delighted  if  the  innocence  of  my  brother  can  be 
proved.  Although  through  his  lawyer  I  was  made  aware 
of  his  return  to  this  country,  I  was  perfectly  unprepared 
for  such  an  event  as  this.  But  I  beg  of  you,  sir,  to  give 
me  the  name  of  the  man  whom  you  assert  to  be  the  real 
criminal." 

"  Davis,"  replied  the  stranger,  whose  voice  each  mo 
ment  perplexed  Aldeane  still  more,  as  afraid  to  move  she 
remained  an  unwilling  listener  to  the  conversation  of  the 
two  gentlemen,  who  were  hidden  from  her  view  by  the 
thick  shrubbery. 

"  Davis !"  reiterated  Colonel  Arendell.  "  What !  not 
Jonas  Davis,  our  old  friend  ?  It  is  impossible !" 

"  It  is  perfectly  true,"  returned  the  gentleman,  quietly. 
"  Jonas  Nevins  Davis,  for  years  known  as  Jonas  Nevins, 
is  now  in  Loring  jail,  occupying  the  very  cell  in  which 
your  brother  was  confined  more  than  twenty  years  ago." 

Overcome  with  astonishment,  Aldeane  thrust  her  hand 
through  the  clustering  vines,  and  by  a  violent  effort 
tearing  them  aside  saw  standing  before  her,  Mr.  Ashton. 

Had  a  thunderbolt  fallen  at  her  feet  she  could  not  have 
been  more  surprised.  "  How  came  he  there,  to  herald  to 
Colonel  Arendell  the  return  of  his  wandering  brother  ?" 

At  the  sound  of  her  low,  involuntary  scream,  and  the 
crashing  of  the  vines,  they  had  started  to  their  feet. 
Colonel  Arendell  regarded  her  with  a  look  of  angry  de 
fiance,  and  Mr.  Ashton  hastened  to  her  side,  leading  her 
like  one  in  a  dream  from  the  arbor,  making  eager  inqui 
ries  concerning  her  health,  and  assuring  her  that  their 
enemy  had  fallen,  never  again  to  rise,  and  that  justice 
would  be  done  to  all  at  last. 

Colonel  Arendell  excitedly  demanded  how  she  came 
there. 

In  a  trembling  voice  she  explained ;  but  he  seemed  but 
half  satisfied,  and  turned  away,  muttering,  "  Women  are 
everywhere,  hearing  every  thing !" 


320  ALDEANE. 

Her  curiosity  and  anxiety  were  smothered  by  her  re 
sentment  of  this  conduct,  so  she  turned  to  depart.  Mr. 
Ashton  wished  to  detain  her,  but  she  swept  proudly  by 
him. 

He  demanded  hastily,  "  When  can  I  see  you,  to  give 
you  all  particulars  ?" 

"  At  almost  any  time,"  she  answered.  "  Colonel  Aren- 
dell  must  suppose  that  I  am  deeply  interested  in  that 
which  concerns  all  who  are  dear  to  me." 

He  turned  ashy  pale,  and  leaning  against  a  pillar  of 
the  piazza,  waved  his  hand  for  her  to  go. 

Noticing  this  deep  emotion,  Aldeane  concluded  that 
the  subject  was  in  reality  very  painful  to  him,  and  imme 
diately  left  them. 

The  whole  of  that  day  and  night  was  passed  by  her  in 
a  state  of  most  intolerable  suspense.  She  saw  Colonel 
Arendell  but  once,  and  then  he  preserved  the  most  im 
penetrable  silence  on  the  subject  nearest  the  thoughts  of 
both,  and  Aldeane  was  unwilling  to  risk  his  displeasure 
by  mentioning  it. 

The  next  morning  she  awaited  impatiently  a  visit  from 
Mr.  Ashton.  She  coiald  not  conceive  how  he  had  become 
acquainted  with  William  Arendell,  or  why  he  should  be 
so  much  interested  in  his  case  as  to  accompany  him  South. 
A  hundred  wild  conjectures  floated  through  her  mind, 
but  none  were  satisfactory.  She  remained  in  an  inde 
scribable  state  of  mysterious  anxiety,  starting  every  time 
the  gates  creaked  on  their  hinges,  or  a  footstep  sounded 
upon  the  piazza.  Colonel  Arendell  left  the  house  early 
in  the  morning,  expecting  that  Mr.  Ashton  would  come, 
and  feeling  very  unwilling  to  meet  him.  The  hours,  to 
Aldeane,  passed  wearily.  The  exercises  of  the  school 
room  seemed  unusually  dull.  Eddie  and  Jessie  could 
not  comprehend  the  lassitude  of  their  teacher,  and  as  a 
matter  of  course  they  were  stupid  and  inattentive,  annoy 
ing  and  worrying  her  exceedingly. 


ALDEANE.  321 

A  feeling  of  joyful  relief  came  over  all  when  Zettie 
came  in  and  announced :  "  A  gentleman  in  the  parlor  to 
see  Miss  Aldeane." 

She  sprang  up  quickly,  and  was  soon  returning  the 
warm  greeting  of  Mr.  Ashton. 

"  Why  did  you  come  South  ?  What  do  you  know  of 
this  Mr.  William  Arendell  ?"  were  her  first  questions. 

"  To  answer  you  fully,  Aldeane,  I  must  take  you  back 
some  twenty  years,"  he  answered.  "  Come,  sit  down 
beside  me,  on  the  sofa.  I  do  not  think  the  story  will  tire 
you." 

She  took  a  seat  and  waited  with  considerable  impa 
tience  for  him  to  begin.  He  walked  up  and  down  before 
her  several  times  in  deep  thought,  then  seating  himself 
beside  her,  and  smoothing  gravely  his  gray  and  flowing 
beard,  commenced : — 

"  It  is  now  about  twenty  years  ago  that  I  made  a 
voyage  to  England.  I  had  left  my  young  wife  and  child 
most  reluctantly,  to  go  there  on  very  important  business. 
For  some  days  I  made  no  acquaintances,  most  of  those 
aboard  being  of  an  inferior  class.  At  last  I  noticed  a  fine- 
looking  man,  of  about  my  own  age,  who  seemed  imbued 
with  the  deepest  melancholy.  He  would  remain  for  hours 
at  the  side  of  the  ship,  with  his  eyes  fastened  upon  the 
rolling  waves,  expressive  of  thoughts  as  wild  and  fath 
omless  as  they.  His  seemingly  desolate  condition  inter 
ested  and  touched  me  with  pity.  Moved  by  a  strong 
impulse  which  I  could  not  resist,  I  one  day  spoke  to  him. 
He  replied  courteously,  but  coldly ;  but  I  was  determined 
not  to  be  so  easily  put  off,  and  again  addressed  him.  The 
acquaintance  thus  commenced  progressed  very  slowly; 
but  the  voyage  proving  long  and  tempestuous,  we  were 
thrown  entirely  on  one  another  for  society,  and  being 
naturally  of  a  sociable  nature,  he  at  last  unbent  before 
my  frequent  advances,  and  ere  the  end  of  the  voyage  we 
had  become  friends. 
14* 


322  ALDEANE. 

"I  knew  that  a  mystery  hung  over  his  life.  As 
yet  I  knew  not  the  place  of  his  residence,  whether  he 
were  married  or  single,  or  even  his  name.  I  longed  to 
penetrate  the  gloom  that  hung  over  him,  and  win  his  con 
fidence,  but  all  my  endeavors  seemed  in  vain.  Delicacy 
forbade  rude  intrusion  upon  his  secret,  and  the  sorrow 
which  marked  his  life  excited  daily  my  pity,  while  the 
manliness  of  his  character  aroused  my  admiration  and 
esteem. 

"  At  length,  amid  general  rejoicing,  we  entered  the 
Mersey,  and  on  the  morrow  would  land.  A  bright  moon 
hung  over  Liverpool,  revealing  to  us  the  dark  streets  of 
the  city  which  we  were  about  to  enter.  My  unknown 
friend  and  I  slowly  and  sorrowfully  paced  the  deck  to 
gether.  Little  was  said  by  either.  I  felt  sincere  pain  at 
parting  with  this  man,  who  seemed  so  truly  miserable, 
and  whom  in  so  short  a  time  I  had  learned  so  deeply  to 
respect.  His  thoughts,  also,  seemed  to  be  of  a  sorrowful 
character,  for  I  saw  his  face  working  painfully  in  the 
moonlight,  while  he  would  occasionally  sigh  deeply,  as  if 
his  very  soul  was  in  strife  with  some  mighty  weight  of 
shame  and  grief. 

"  He  stopped  at  last,  placing  his  elbows  on  the  side  of 
the  ship,  and  covering  his  face  with  his  hands.  I  fancy 
I  can  see  him  now.  The  hands  were  delicate  and  white, 
and  trembled  nervously  as  they  closed  over  his  dark  face, 
shaded  darkly  by  the  black  hair  that  fell  over  them.  I 
regarded  him  for  a  moment  in  sorrowful  astonishment, 
then  laid  my  hand  upon  his  arm  in  silent  sympathy. 

"  The  touch  aroused  him  ;  turning,  he  placed  his  arm 
again  within  mine,  and  we  recommenced  our  silent  walk. 
I  longed  to  know  his  troubles,  and  to  comfort  him,  yet 
shrank  from  asking  his  confidence.  He  seemed  struggling 
violently  with  his  pride,  for  ever  and  anon  he  would  open 
his  lips  as  if  to  speak,  then  close  them  again  with  a  look 
of  agony. 


ALDEANE.  323 

"  My  sympathy  at  length  overcame  every  other  consid 
eration.  I  could  not  longer  remain  silent,  and  see  this 
man,  whom  I  had  learned  to  esteem,  suffer  so  deeply  in 
my  presence,  without  seeking  to  comfort  him. 

" '  My  friend,'  I  said,  for  I  knew  not  his  name,  '  you 
are  in  trouble — some  weighty  sorrow  is  oppressing  your 
heart.  Can  I  not  help  or  comfort  you  ?' 

"  I  had  expected  a  sorrowful  answer ;  I  had  prepared 
myself  for  a  sad  scene,  but  not  for  that  which  really  oc 
curred.  He  dropped  my  arm,  and  leaning  against  the 
bulwarks,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  burst  into 
tears.  I  was  astounded  to  see  the  strong  man  before  me 
weeping  like  a  very  child,  but  in  the  deep  anguish  of 
a  man's  wounded  heart,  I  stood  irresolute,  not  knowing 
what  to  say  or  do,  and  while  I  pondered,  the  storm  of 
passion  passed  away,  and  he  looked  up,  saying : — 

"  '  I  know  you  despise  me  after  this  exhibition  of  weak 
ness  ;  but,  indeed,  mine  is  a  bitter  lot !' 

"  '  I  know  that !'  I  replied,  standing  beside  him,  and 
clasping  his  hand,  '  and  I  conjure  you,  if  you  have  any 
faith  in  my  honor,  or  reliance  upon  my  friendship,  to  let 
me  know  your  griefs,  that,  if  possible,  I  may  alleviate 
them.' 

"  '  That  you  can  not  do  !'  he  replied,  sighing  deeply, 
but  you  shall  know  my  story,  though  I  fear  to  tell  it 
to  you,  lest  I  thereby  lose  the  only  friend  I  have  on 
earth.' 

"  I  earnestly  assured  him,  that  whatever  he  should 
state,  I  should  consider  more  his  misfortune  than  his 
fault,  and  after  a  few  moments'  reflection,  he  commenced 
the  story  of  his  life.  Afterward,  he  wrote  the  sad  tale 
out  in  nearly  the  same  words,  as  those  in  which  he  had 
told  it  to  me,  and  this  statement,  Aldeane,  I  am  about  to 
place  in  your  hands,  together  with  the  proofs  of  William 
Arendell's  innocence,  and  Jonas  Nevins  Davis's  guilt, 
which  it  has  been  the  work  of  years  to  collect.  Read 


ALDEANE. 

them  to-night,  my  dear,  and  I  will  advise  with  you  as  to 
the  part  you  may  be  called  upon  to  take  in  this  affair." 

Mr.  Ashton  said  much  more,  but  what  it  was,  Aldeane, 
in  her  confused  state,  could  not  tell,  and  it  was  long  after 
he  had  bidden  her  farewell,  that  she  found  courage  to 
look  upon  the  documents  he  had  left  in  her  hand. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

WILLIAM  AREXDELL'S  NARRATIVE. 

ALDEAKE  GUTHRIE  did  not  wait  for  night  to  come,  ere 
she  hurried  to  her  room,  and  eagerly  bent  herself  to  the 
perusal  of  the  record  which  had  been  confided  to  her, 
wondering  by  what  strange  fatality  it  had  been  made 
her  lot  to  be  made  the  repository  of  secrets,  which,  like 
those  of  Raymond,  this  William  Arendell's  unfortunate 
son,  apparently  affected  her  so  little. 

But  her  curiosity  hastily  silenced  these  reflections,  and 
she  opened  the  manuscript,  which  was  marked  for  her 
earliest  perusal,  and  read  the  tale  which  had  been  told 
to  Mr.  Ashton  upon  the  deck  of  the  vessel  more  than 
twenty  years  before. 

"  My  name,"  it  began,  "  is  William  Arendell.  I  am  a 
native  of  North  Carolina.  My  mother  died  when  I  was 
a  child  of  five  years  old,  and  my  father  about  fifteen 
years  later.  I  inherited  the  paternal  estate  called  Grass- 
mere,  and  my  younger  brother,  John,  one  not  less  valu 
able,  some  ten  miles  distant.  Thus  we  were  placed,  with 
an  equal  number  of  slaves,  and  an  equal  amount  of  land 
and  money.  I  need  say  no  more,  except  that  John  was 
quiet  and  frugal,  and  I  his  opposite — an  unworthy  elder 
brother — I  know;  yet  I  was  not  base  at  heart,  but,  O, 
God !  so  weak,  weak,  weak. 

"  When  I  became  master  at  Grassmere,  there  was  a 
beautiful  slave  girl  there — a  quadroon — and  one  of  the 
most  lovely  creatures  of  her  race.  Her  beauty  inspired 


320  ALDEANE. 

me  with  -  a  passion  of  which  I  now  blush  to  speak. 
It  was  not  long  before  I  discovered  that  she  loved  me 
with  her  whole  heart  and  soul.  What  need  have  I  to  say 
more  ?  She  was  a  slave,  I  the  master  whom  she  wor 
shiped.  A  child  was  born  to  us,  the  image  of  myself, 
and  my  heart  went  out  to  him  with  the  purest,  tenderest 
love.  Sweet  child  ;  dear  little  Junius  !"  he  paused,  as  if 
overcome  by  emotion,  but  presently  continued  :  — 

"  Meanwhile,  my  brother  had  married.  His  wife  had 
been  much  admired  for  her  beauty,  and  among  others  I 
had  bowed  at  her  shrine,  but  soon  discovering  her  fiend 
ish  disposition  and  horrible  temper  had  left  her  in  dis 
gust.  Unfortunately,  I,  who  detested  her,  had  inspired 
her  with  love,  and  her  fury  was  fully  aroused  when  she 
found  it  hopeless.  For  some  time  she  employed  her  most 
seductive  arts  to  win  me  back  ;  but  all  in  vain.  Mean 
while,  John  had  become  deeply  enamored  of  her.  I 
warned  and  remonstrated  with  him,  but  only  excited  his 
anger  and  jealousy.  For  some  time  she  scorned  his  suit, 
but  he  continued  it  with  the  most  ardent  pertinacity,  and 
at  length,  to  my  great  sorrow  and  surprise,  she  accepted 
him,  and  very  shortly  afterward  became  his  wife. 

"  After  my  father's  death,  I  led,  what  is  usually  termed 
the  life  of  a  fast  young  man.  I  had  money,  and  I  scat 
tered  it  freely,  and  was  greatly  surprised,  when  I  found 
that  it  was  not  only  exhaustible,  but  that  I  was  in  reality 
deeply  in  debt.  I  applied  to  my  brother  for  relief,  and 
he  granted  it,  instructing  his  overseer,  Richard  Blake,  to 
supply  me  with  the  funds  I  required.  My  sister-in-law  at 
the  same  time  pretended  the  greatest  solicitude  in  my 
behalf. 

"  About  this  time,  I  became  acquainted  with  a  young 
lady  —  a  resident  of  another  county,  named  Alice  Deane. 


Aldeane  paused,  and  clasped  her  hands  in  amazement, 
or  perhaps  more  correctly  a  species  of  affright,  ejaculated, 


ALDEANE.  327 

"  My  aunt,  Alice  Deane !"  and  then  breathlessly  resumed 
her  reading. 

"I  soon  loved  her  devotedly.  My  passion  for  the 
beautiful  quadroon  died  before  the  pure  loveliness  of  this 
fair  creature.  She  was  loved  by  another,  who  swore 
vengeance  upon  whomsoever  should  take  her  from  him. 
I  laughed  at  his  threats,  yet  for  the  sake  of  Samira's 
child,  whom  I  still  loved  devotedly,  I  for  some  time  re 
sisted  the  fascinations  of  her  beauty,  but  at  last  disclosed 
my  feelings,  and  with  a  heart  throbbing  with  ecstasy, 
heard  that  they  were  reciprocated.  Sorrowfully,  I  told 
her,  that  wild  and  dissipated  as  I  was,  I  was  most  unfit 
to  be  the  companion  of  so  pure  a  creature.  But  she 
would  not  believe  her  idol  clay,  and  with  truest  faith  gave 
me  her  heart. 

"  Ere  long  we  were  married,  and  shortly  afterward  she 
knew  all,  but  instead  of  loathing  me  and  hating  my  child, 
she  conceived  for  him  a  strong  affection,  and  for  a  time  I 
was  perfectly  happy  in  beholding  the  felicity  of  the  wife 
and  child  I  adoi-ed. 

"  But,  alas  !  enemies  were  plotting  my  destruction !  The 
words  of  Davis  had  not  been  lightly  spoken.  I  had  paid 
all,  except  one  small  installment,  of  what  I  had  borrowed 
of  my  brother,  for  by  the  most  rigid  economy,  and  a 
most  fortunate  speculation  in*tobacco,  I  had  gained  in 
one  year  nearly  as  much  as  I  had  expended  in  twelve.  I 
neglected  to  obtain  receipts  from  the  overseer  of  those 
payments,  but,  of  course,  John  knows  of  them,  and  will 
act  justly  in  connection  with  the  proper  officials  in  the 
disposition  of  my  estate. 

"  One  day,  about  two  years  after  my  marriage,  on  return 
ing  from  Linden,  a  village  two  miles  distant,  to  my  house, 
what  was  my  surprise  to  see  several  officers  of  the  law 
scattered  in  different  parts  of  the  house  and  grounds. 
There  had  been  a  robbery  committed  the  night  before  on 
the  Loring  bank — a  window  having  been  entered,  and  the 


328  ALDEANE. 

safe  forced  open ;  and  my  first  impression  was  that  they 
were  resting  at  my  house  on  their  way  to  apprehend  the 
suspected  party.  I  saluted  them  carelessly,  and  one  ap 
proached,  placing  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  arresting 
me  for  the  robbery  of  the  bank. 

"  Had  a  meteor  descended  from  heaven  and  burst  before 
me  I  could  not  have  been  more  horrified  and  astounded. 
My  poor  wife  threw  her  arms  around  me,  shrieking  wildly 
with  terror.  "While  endeavoring  to  soothe  and  assure 
her,  I  myself  became  calm.  Quick  as  a  lightning  flash 
the  truth  burst  upon  me !  Davis  was  cashier  of  the 
bank,  and  I  doubted  not,  had  brought  this  accusation 
against  me,  in  order  to  fulfill  his  diabolical  threats  of 
ruining  me.  Until  now  I  had  quite  forgotten  them,  for 
he  had  always  greeted  me  cordially  when  we  met,  and  in 
that  neighborhood  had  never  given  utterance  to  a  single 
word  against  me.  But  I  did  not  for  a  moment  suppose 
but  that  I  should  be  able  to  prove  his  villainy,  and  the 
falseness  of  the  charge. 

"  I  demanded  of  the  officer  the  reason  of  my  arrest. 
He  could  give  none,  except  that  it  was  by  the  order  of 
the  sheriff  of  the  county.  He  treated  me  very  respect 
fully,  but  said  that  he  had  orders  to  search  the  house.  I 
readily  agreed  to  this,  and  accompanied  him  though  every 
room.  The  last  we  visited  was  the  library.  This  they 
thoroughly  searched.  There  was  a  small  safe  in  one 
corner,  which  contained  many  valuable  papers,  many  of 
which  I  was  most  anxious  should  not  be  seen  by  those 
men,  for  they  related  to  my  bachelor  days,  many  of 
which  were  spent  in  gayety  and  dissipation  of  which  I 
was  then  heartily  ashamed. 

"  Involuntarily  I  placed  myself  before  it  to  screen  it 
from  observation.  The  movement  attracted  the  notice 
of  the  officers,  and  one  demanded  the  key.  I  looked  for 
it  in  the  accustomed  place,  it  was  not  there.  My  God  ! 
who  had  touched  that  key ;  who  had  tampered  with  the 


ALDEANE,  329 

lock  of  the  safe  ?  I  felt  lost  when  I  asked  myself  that 
question.  Some  one  picked  up  the  key  from  the  floor, 
and  held  it  up  to  me. 

" '  That  is  the  key,'  I  said,  '  but  I  assure  you  that  the 
safe  contains  nothing  but  valuable  papers.' 

" '  That  may  be,'  he  replied.  '  Nevertheless,  I  must 
act  according  to  orders,  and  search  every  place.' 

"I  awaited  in  trembling  anxiety  for  the  conclusion 
of  the  search.  Package  after  package  of  papers  were 
removed  and  untied,  and  the  search  was  nearly  con 
cluded,  when  an  exclamation  of  surprise  was  uttered  by 
one  of  the  men.  I  bent  forward,  and  to  my  horror  and 
surprise,  saw  a  large  sum  in  gold,  and  a  few  bank  notes 
lying  in  one  corner.  With  a  malicious  smile  one  of  the 
men  gathered  them  up  and  examined  them.  '  This  an 
swers  the  description  of  the  stolen  money  !'  he  said. 

" '  Villain  !  of  what  do  you  accuse  me  ?'  I  exclaimed, 
springing  upon  him.  I  was  seized  by  a  number  of  the 
officers,  and  struggled  wildly  with  them,  thus  injuring 
my  cause,  by  impressing  them  with  the  belief  that  I 
wished  to  escape. 

"  This  had  never  entered  my  mind.  Though  perfectly 
overwhelmed  at  the  sight  of  the  money,  the  idea  that  I 
could  not  clear  myself  readily  of  the  accusation  brought 
against  me,  never  once  occurred  to  me. 

"  My  wife  had  fainted  in  my  arms,  and  I  stood  in 
abject  misery  when  my  brother  rode  up  to  the  door,  and 
hearing  from  one  of  the  officers  that  I  was  arrested, 
sprang  into  the  library,  demanding  what  it  all  meant. 

"  I  was  so  utterly  stunned  by  what  had  befallen  me, 
and  by  the  sight  of  my  unconscious  wife,  that  I  scarcely 
noticed  his  presence.  One  of  the  men,  pointing  to  the 
money,  hastily  gave  an  explanation,  and  foaming  with 
rage  he  turned  toward  me : — 

" '  So  this  is  the  end !'  he  exclaimed,  '  after  years  of 
wildnoss  and  dissipation,  you  end  your  career  by  robbWy !' 


330  ALDEANE. 

" '  John,'  I  returned,  in  horror,  '  you  do  not  believe 
me  guilty  ?' 

"  '  And  why  not  ?'  he  asked  with  a  sneer.  '  Why  not  ? 
There,'  pointing  to  the  money,  'is  the  proof!  Good 
heavens,  that  I  should  live  to  see  my  brother  accused  of 
such  a  crime,  and  to  hear  my  name  a  by-word  and  a 
disgrace !' 

"  My  brain  seemed  on  fire  as  I  heard  those  words.  My 
own  brother  had  condemned  me  already  in  presence  of 
all  these  witnesses.  I  left  my  wife  to  the  care  of  the 
servants,  and  rose  up.  '  John,  come  away  from  here, 
where  I  can  speak  to  you  unreservedly.'  I  strode  out  to 
the  porch,  followed  by  the  officers  and  my  brother. 

"  '  I  came  up  to  have  some  private  conversation  of  an 
important  nature  with  you,'  said  John.  '  But  I  suppose 
that  will  not  be  allowed.' 

"  One  of  the  officers,  after  a  short  consultation  with 
the  others,  said  that  they  would  have  no  objection  to  our 
having  a  short  private  conversation,  provided  that  it 
took  place  where  we  could  be  seen. 

" '  Place  your  men  in  the  garden  wherever  you 
please !'  I  said.  '  I  know  too  well  my  innocence  to 
attempt  to  escape,  still  it  is  your  duty  to  watch  me. 
You  see  yonder  arbor  ?'  pointing  to  one  that  stood  in  the 
garden,  overrun  with  a  wild  trumpet-vine,  '  let  us  go 
there.  You  can  easily  watch  us.' 

"  They  assented,  and  we  walked  to  the  arbor  that  for 
years  had  been  my  favorite  seat.  My  brother  angrily 
demanded  an  explanation  of  what  had  passed.  I  could 
give  him  none  except  that  relative  to  Davis,  and  earn 
estly  protest  my  innocence. 

"  He  smiled  incredulously.  '  Why,  then,  did  you  write 
that  letter  to  Holland  ?'  he  asked. 

"  '  What  letter  ?'  I  exclaimed,  in  surprise,  for  I  had  not 
written  to  my  friend  Ralph  Holland,  who  had  gone  to 
England  on  a  bridal  tour,  for  several  weeks,  and  could 


ALDEANE.  331 

not  conceive  what  possible  connection  my  correspondence 
with  him  could  have  with  my  arrest. 

"  '  The  one  discovered  in  your  portfolio  this  morning  !' 

"  '  This  morning !'  I  repeated,  in  astonishment.  '  There 
was  none  there  addressed  to  Holland !' 

"  '  It  is  false  !'  he  returned,  fiercely.  '  It  was  discov 
ered  this  morning  at  the  same  time  as  the  stolen  money. 
You  know  well  its  contents  !' 

"  '  As  I  live,  I  know  nothing  of  it !'  I  replied,  much  en 
raged  at  his  taunting  words  and  manner.  'What  did 
you  come  to  me  to-day  for?  Do  you  want  the  little 
money  I  owe  you  ?' 

"  '  Yes,'  he  answered, '  but  I  suppose  I  shall  not  get  it !' 

"  '  That  you  will  not.  I  have  not  such  a  large  sum  in 
the  house,  and  what  I  have  I  shall  leave  for  my  wife's 
use.' 

"  Many  words  of  a  similar  nature  passed.  John  seemed 
beside  himself  with  anger.  He  would  not  for  a  moment 
credit  my  innocence,  and  we  parted  with  feelings  of 
hatred  and  distrust  on  both  sides.  He  strode  from  the 
arbor,  and  galloped  away,  and  bidding  farewell  to  my 
lovely  wife,  I  went  to  Loring,  and  was  there  subjected  to 
an  examination,  in  which,  as  I  suspected,  Davis  and 
Blake  were  the  chief  persons  who  appeared  against  me. 
A  few  friends  became  security  for  my  appearance,  and  I 
impatiently  awaited  my  trial,  which  was  to  take  place  in 
a  few  weeks. 

"  Oh  !  my  friend,  how  drearily  that  time  passed  !  The 
pleasure  that,  even  in  my  distress,  I  should  have  enjoyed  in 
my  wife's  society,  was  marred  by  the  traces  of  care  and 
suffering  that  rested  upon  her  lovely  face,  now  fast  grow 
ing  pale  and  attenuated.  My  brother  John  and  his  wife 
came  once  to  see  us.  I  thought  that  a  gleam  of  exulta 
tion  lighted  up  her  dark  eyes  as  she  looked  upon  my  mis 
ery,  but  in  a  moment  it  was  gone,  and  when  she  spoke,  it 
was  in  the  sweetest  accents,  assuring  me  that,  though 


332  ALDEANE. 

appearances  were  against  me,  she  believed  that  a  horrible 
plot  had  been  laid  for  my  destruction,  and  that  I  was  per 
fectly  innocent. 

"  John  walked  impatiently  up  and  down  during  the 
interview.  We  had  neither  of  us  recovered  from  the 
anger  in  which  we  had  parted,  and  he  spoke  but  once,  and 
then  to  mutter : — 

"'Davis  is  a  man  to  be  trusted.  Blake's  testimony, 
also,  is  to  be  believed  in  every  particxilar !' 

"  I  replied,  angrily,  that  money  would  do  any  thing ; 
that  as  for  Davis,  he  would  swear  his  soul  away  to  grat 
ify  his  revenge,  for  that  I  was  confident  he  hated  me. 
*  You  well  know  that  he  loved  my  wife,  and  swore  to 
ruin  me  when  I  married  her  !'  I  concluded,  earnestly. 

"  '  Love  is  a  dreadful  thing !'  said  Mrs.  Arendell,  softly. 
'  Love  is  the  demon  that  steals  our  souls.' 

" '  Has  it  stolen  yours  ?'  I  asked,  abruptly,  raising  my 
eyes  to  hers. 

"  She  turned  slightly  pale.  *  Why,  what  a  question, 
William !  Of  course  it  hasn't !'  She  arose  to  go,  and 
said,  as  she  bade  me  farewell : — 

"  '  I  shall  call  on  Alice  often !  I  wish  you  would  let 
her  go  home  with  me  now.  I  suppose  she  would  be  very 
unwilling  to  leave  you ;  but  I  really  think  it  would  be 
better  for  her.  This  constant  excitement  is  enough  to 
kill  her ;  she  needs  every  attention  at  this  time.' 

"  For  a  moment^  I  was  deceived  by  the  suavity  of  her 
manner.  I  felt  choked  with  emotion  at  this  mention  of 
my  wife,  with  whom  I  had  rejoiced  over  the  prospect  of 
the  possession  of  a  tie  which  should  bind  us  even  more 
closely  together.  I  now  shuddered  that  it  might  be  the 
child  of  a  condemned  felon,  who  would  be  the  object  of 
pity  instead  of  pride,  and  who  would  grow  up  in  detesta 
tion  of  the  name  which  it  should  revere  and  love.  These 
thoughts  passed  rapidly  through  my  mind.  When  I 
looked  up  at  my  brother's  wife,  a  slight  sneer  curled  her 


ALDEAXE.  333 

beautiful  lips,  and  her  eyes  were  looking  coldly  into  mine, 
with  an  expression  that  curdled  my  very  blood. 

"  '  I  thought  you  were  about  to  speak.  Remember  I 
am  your  friend !  Shall  I  take  Alice  home  with  me  or 
not?' 

"  I  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  my  pure  and  gentle 
wife  being  in  the  power  of  that  woman,  and  said  quick- 
ly:- 

"  *  No.  No,  I  thank  you !  She  is  better  where  she  is. 
She  would  pine  the  more  were  she  away  from  Grassmere.' 

"  A  slight  frown  darkened  her  brow,  and  she  bit  her 
full,  red  lip.  '  Good-bye !'  she  said,  extending  her  hand. 

"  I  touched  it  coldly,  my  brother  bowed,  and  they  went, 
leaving  me  to  breathe  with  a  feeling  of  freedom  the  air 
which  her  presence  seemed  to  have  contaminated. 

"  I  can  not  speak  of  all  that  followed.  Fancy  to  your 
self  the  agony  with  which  I  heard  myself  condemned  for 
a  crime  against  which  my  very  nature  revolted.  Davis 
and  Blake,  John's  overseer,  were  the  chief  witnesses 
against  me.  Oh  !  the  dreadful  perjury  that  was  commit 
ted  upon  that  fatal  day !  I  can  not  now  tell  you  half  they 
said,  but  their  testimony  seemed  to  have  no  weak  point ; 
their  evidence  appeared  perfectly  plausible  in  every  re 
spect.  I  had  been  to  a  party  on  the  night  of  the  rob 
bery,  and  returned  part  way  home  with  them.  No  one 
knew  what  time  I  reached  Grassmere,  and  that  fact,  and 
the  gold  found  in  my  possession,  with  the  forged  letter  to 
Holland,  in  which  the  writing  was  so  exactly  like  my 
own  that  my  own  friends  swore  that  it  was,  and  in  which 
I  stated  that,  with  cash  in  hand  and  the  proceeds  of  my 
estate  I  should  have  enough  to  live  well  in  England, 
whither  I  intended  to  go  in  order  to  bring  up  Junius  as 
a  white  child,  was  testimony  enough  to  doom  me  as  a 
villain  forever.  It  was  well  known  that  all  my  interests 
were  in  the  South,  and  that  I  should  never  leave  it  except 
to  conceal  a  crime,  to  defraud  my  creditors,  or  to  educate 


334:  ALDEANE. 

Junius.  Many  believed  me  to  be  deeply  involved,  and 
my  affairs  were  in  such  a  neglected  condition  that  in  the 
short  time  between  my  imprisonment  and  trial  it  was  im 
possible  for  me  so  to  arrange  them  as  to  prove  the  con 
trary.  Many  were  greatly  puzzled  about  the  matter,  but 
there  was  scarcely  one  that  did  not  believe  me  guilty. 
Some  strange  infatuation,  they  argued,  some  hidden 
cause,  had  led  me  to  commit  the  crime  for  which  I  was 
about  to  suffer. 

"  The  unanimous  verdict  of  the  jury  was  '  Guilty.' 

"As  the  word  was  pronounced,  a  wild  shriek  rang 
through  the  court-house,  and  I  saw  my  poor  wife  borne 
fainting  away.  She  had  come  there  in  spite  of  my 
entreaties,  hoping  to  hear  for  me  a  full  acquittal.  I  was 
sentenced  to  two  years'  imprisonment,  and  thirty  lashes 
at  the  public  whipping-post ! 

"  I  was  led  into  the  prison,  half  bewildered  by  the 
horrible  thoughts  that  crowded  my  mind,  and  nearly 
crazed  by  the  dreary  prospect  before  me.  I  was  left 
alone,  I — an  Arendell,  within  the  walls  of  a  prison  !  The 
night  came  on,  and  still  I  sat  with  my  burning  head 
bowed  in  my  hands,  thinking,  thinking,  till  my  brain, 
aroused  from  its  torpor,  seemed  glowing  like  fire.  At 
midnight  I  arose,  and  walked  to  the  little  casement, 
resolved  soon  to  escape,  or  perish  in  the  attempt. 

"  The  moonlight  streamed  in  through  the  barred  win 
dow,  filling  the  little  room  with  a  pale  weird  light  that 
calmed  the  raging  tempest  in  my  bosom.  I  grew  calm 
beneath  its  influence,  and  until  the  gray  dawning  of 
morning  reflected  upon  modes  of  escape.  And  at  last 
arrived  at  the  only  practicable  one.  The  vigil  of  the 
night  brought  to  me  hope,  and  such  comfort,  that  when 
the  first  sunbeam  stole  in  to  gladden  the  darkness  that 
surrounded  me,  I  welcomed  it,  as  the  harbinger  of  liberty 
and  peace. 

"  My  wife  came  early  in  the  morning  to  see  me.     I  was 


ALDEANE.  335 

greatly  shocked  at  the  change  that  had  taken  place  in 
her.  Her  light  hair  hung  like  a  frame  of  dusky  gold 
around  her  fair  suffering  face;  her  violet  eyes  looked 
drearily  forth  from  beneath  the  blue-veined  lids.  Not  a 
particle  of  color  tinted  her  parched  lips  or  cheeks,  she 
looked  indeed  the  personification  of  despair.  She  sank 
with  a  bitter  moan  into  my  arms  as  she  entered,  laying 
her  throbbing  head  upon  my  bosom,  while  her  heart  beat 
violently  upon  my  aching  one. 

"  *  My  husband  !  my  husband  !'  she  moaned.  '  Oh  ! 
why  can  not  we  die  ?'  She  drew  Junius  toward  her. 
*  Oh,  that  we  could  all  lie  down  together  now  and  be  at 
rest !' 

" '  Alice,'  I  said,  soothingly,  '  live,  darling,  for  my 
sake  !' 

"  I  drew  her  into  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room,  and 
as  soon  as  she  became  sufficiently  calm,  disclosed  to  her 
ray  plans  for  escape.  To  her  ardent  imagination  they 
seemed  certain  of  success,  and  with  a  joyful  heart  she 
left  me  to  prepare  what  I  considered  necessary.  She  came 
again  the  next  day,  for  there  was  no  obstacle  interposed 
to  prevent  my  seeing  her  at  any  time.  No  criminals  had 
ever  been  confined  in  Loring  before  for  any  great  offense, 
or  for  any  length  of  time,  and  as  no  one  had  escaped, 
they  supposed  that  the  prison  was  secure,  though  in 
fact  it  was  far  from  being  so.  Any  man  with  ordinary 
strength  of  arm  could  break  the  slender  bars  across  the 
windows,  and  force  a  passage  out.  A  small  chisel  that 
my  wife  had  brought  facilitated  my  escape.  The  win 
dows  were  at  a  great  height  from  the  ground,  and  at 
midnight,  having  severed  noiselessly  the  bars,  I  looked 
down  upon  the  quiet  street  with  a  shudder,  for  I  knew 
that  I  would  endanger  my  life  in  the  spring  I  was  about 
to  make  for  freedom,  but  better  death  than  imprisonment 
and  the  infamy  of  the  lash.  I  thrust  myself  through  the 
narrow  casement,  and  looked  up  with  an  earnest  though 


'336  ALDEANE. 

voiceless  prayer.  The  bright  autumn  moon  was  high  in 
the  blue  heavens,  the  light  fleecy  clouds  hovered  around 
her,  like  pages  in  attendance  on  their  queen.  I  glanced 
down  the  street.  The  tall  trees  waved  gently  in  the 
faint  breeze,  and  save  the  rustling  of  their  foliage,  and 
the  shrill  monotonous  croaking  of  the  frogs  in  a  distant 
pond,  all  was  still.  Nothing  but  dark  shadows  stretch 
ing  their  dusky  lengths  upon  the  white  houses  and  sandy 
walk,  was  stirring.  All  within  the  village  were  at  rest. 
I  looked  again,  and  breathed  the  cool  fresh  air,  and  with 
it  a  stronger  desire  for  liberty.  I  sprang  from  the  case 
ment  to  the  street,  and,  though  for  an  instant  I  felt 
almost  paralyzed  by  the  fearful  shock,  discovered  with 
joy  that  I  had  sustained  no  injury.  I  looked  cau 
tiously  around  me.  The  little  town  was  buried  in  slum 
ber,  not  even  a  dog  was  stirring,  and  with  a  beating 
heart  I  walked  hurriedly  away.  Some  two  miles  were 
passed  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time,  and  I  entered 
a  dark  pine-wood.  The  moon  was  in  the  decline,  and 
every  thing  within  the  shadowy  grove  was  painfully 
indistinct.  I  could  see  nothing  of  those  that  I  expected 
would  be  there.  I  stood  for  a  moment  in  trembling 
expectation,  and  then  with  a  thrill  of  joy  I  felt  my  hand 
clasped  by  the  fingers  of  little  Junius,  and  a  moment 
after  my  wife  was  in  my  arms. 

" '  Is  all  ready  ?'  I  asked. 

" '  All,'  she  replied,  placing  in  my  hands  a  well-filled 
purse,  and  leading  me  a  few  steps  farther  into  the  forest, 
where  my  favorite  Arrow,  a  very  swift  and  valuable 
steed,  was  tied  to  a  tree.  He  neighed  with  delight  at 
seeing  me,  and  I  caressed  the  gentle  creature,  as  the 
instrument  that  would  in  reality  give  me  freedom. 

"  I  gave  my  last  directions  to  my  sweet  young  wife, 
which  were  that  she  should  dispose  of  the  estate,  settle 
with  my  few  creditors,  and  as  soon  afterward  as  she  was 
able  to  travel,  to  go  to  New  York,  where  she  would  find 


ALDEANE.  337 

lettei's  advising  her  of  my  whereabouts,  and  also  direc 
tions  for  the  future.  Saniira  and  Junius  were  of  course 
to  go  with  her.  I  could  with  difficulty  separate  myself 
from  him.  He  entreated  me  most  piteously  to  take 
him  with  me.  Oh,  if  I  had  but  listened  to  the  pleadings 
of  my  own  heart  and  his  plaintive  prayers,  and  yielded 
to  them !  but  my  wife  begged  me  not  to  leave  her  all 
alone,  and  putting  him  resolutely  away,  I  turned  to  bid 
her  a  last  farewell.  I  shall  never  forget  that  last  look. 
The  pale  moonbeams  rested  upon  a  face  as  white  as 
marble  ;  the  blue  eyes  were  dusky  with  unshed  tears,  a 
weight  of  agony  seemed  breaking  her  young  spirit,  and 
her  white  hands  were  pressed  tightly  over  her  heart,  as 
if  she  fain  would  still  forever  its  wild  beating.  A  low 
moan  passed  her  lips,  as  pressing  her  to  my  bosom,  I 
kissed  her  again  and  again. 

"  '  Oh,  my  God  !  this  is  agony  !'  she  murmured. 

"  '  'Tis  not  forever  my  wife  !  'tis  not  forever !'  I  ex 
claimed,  a  dreadful  foreboding  at  my  heart  the  while. 
'  My  Alice,  be  brave.  We  shajl  soon  meet  again.' 

"  A  hand  of  iron  seemed  pressing  upon  my  heart.  I 
could  say  no  more,  but  with  one  burning  kiss  upon  lips 
and  brow,  I  placed  her  almost  insensible  011  the  sward, 
then  throwing  myself  into  the  saddle,  rode  madly  away, 
pursued  by  a  hundred  maddening  thoughts  that  seemed 
to  drive  my  mind  to  the  very  verge  of  insanity,  and  even 
to  have  an  influence  over  my  steed,  for  he  bore  me  madly 
on,  as  if  he  knew  that  life  or  death  depended  on  his  efforts ; 
and  when  the  gray  dawn  stole  over  the  gloom  of  night, 
I  was  far  away  safe  from  all  pursuit.  I  reined  in  at  an 
elegant  mansion  upon  a  fine  plantation,  where  I  was  cour 
teously  entertained,  although  my  host  could  not  refrain 
from  making  some  remarks  of  surprise  and  curiosity  at 
my  wild  and  haggard  appearance.  I  took  no  notice  of 
them,  and  after  breakfast  called  for  my  hoi-se,  and  again 
set  forth.  My  friend,  I  need  not  toll  you  more  of  that 


338  ALDEANE. 

hurried  flight ;  suffice  it  to  say,  that  my  faithful  Arrow 
fell  dead  on  the  evening  of  the  third  day.  I  at  last 
arrived  in  New  York,  and  most  anxiously  awaited  tidings 
of  those  I  had  left  behind.  For  myself  I  felt  no  fears, 
as  I  knew  I  was  out  of  danger  of  being  retaken.  I  decided 
at  last  to  go  to  England,  where,  by  the  aid  of  my  friend, 
Holland,  I  might  obtain  a  situation,  in  which  I  might 
again  make  for  myself  an  honorable  name.  I  was  unwill 
ing  to  leave  without  hearing  one  word  from  my  wife, 
and  actually  had  some  idea  of  returning  secretly  to  North 
Carolina,  although  I  knew  the  enterprise  would  be  at 
tended  with  great  danger. 

"  One  day  I  picked  up  a  paper,  and  after  reading  the 
news,  casually  glanced  at  the  column  of  deaths  ;  what 
was  my  horror  to  discover  the  name  of  my  wife !  With 
the  most  intense  agony  I  read  the  paragraph.  She  had 
died  in  less  than  a  week  after  I  left  her — she  and  my 
child ;  and  so  with  naught  to  recall  me  to  my  native  land, 
save  the  one  hope  of  clearing  my  name  of  the  foul  blot 
cast  upon  it,  the  one  purpose  to  which  I  devote  my  life, 
I  go  to  seek  strength  for  the  contest,  and  years  hence, 
perhaps,  when  that  villain  may  grow  careless  in  his  fan 
cied  security,  I  may  return  to  show  him  that  my  ven 
geance  is  grown  strong  in  slumber." 

Thus  ended  William  Arendell's  tale. 

To  this  manuscript  a  few  pages  in  Mr.  Ashton's  -wri 
ting  were  added.  Aldeane  read  with  interest,  just  such 
a  record  as  she  would  have  expected  of  the  writer,  one 
of  unfaltering  trust  and  kindly  aid. 

"  Dearest  Aldeane,"  it  commenced,  "  I  heard  this  tale 
as  I  know  you  have  read  it ;  I  could  not  say  much  to 
comfort  him,  save  to  assure  him,  that  I  would  make  his 
cause  my  own,  and  bring  that  villain  to  justice,  if  it  were 
possible.  I  think  in  my  young  days,  I  must  have  been 
foolishly  chivalrous,  but  however  that  may  be,  I  loved 
that  persecuted  man  like  a  brother,  and  during  the  short 


ALDEANE.  339 

time  we  were  together,  made  myself  acquainted  with 
every  peculiarity  of  his  mind,  or  circumstance  that  could 
be  turned  to  advantage. 

"  That  his  friend,  Charles  Holland,  might  be  in  Liver 
pool,  and  be  able  by  his  influence  in  business  circles,  to 
place  him  in  some  position  of  trust,  became  as  much  my 
hope  as  his ;  and  resolving,  if  his  friend's  assistance  was 
unobtainable,  to  give  him  such  as  was  at  my  own  com 
mand,  I  looked  eagerly  forward  to  our  arrival  in  Liver 
pool. 

"  Upon  our  arrival  in  that  city,  we  went  together  to  a 
hotel,  and  to  our  joy  found  his  friend,  Charles  Holland, 
there.  He  was  awaiting  the  departure  of  the  vessel,  by 
which  we  had  come,  and  which,  by  tempestuous  weather, 
had  been  so  long  at  sea,  that  she  did  not  reach  the  port 
until  after  the  appointed  time  for  sailing. 

"  He  was  much  surprised  at  seeing  Mr.  Arendell,  and 
after  listening  to  his  tale,  vented  his  indignation  in  such 
strong  language,  that  I  was  still  more  fully  persuaded  of 
his  entire  innocence.  On  being  left  alone  with  Mr.  Hol 
land,  I  made  minute  inquiries  concerning  Mr.  Arendell's 
past  life,  and  found  that  he  had  in  his  despair,  magnified 
his  faults,  and  forgotten  his  good  qualities.  Mr.  Holland 
expatiated  warmly  upon  the  generosity  and  nobleness  of 
his  disposition,  and  entirely  repudiated  the  idea  of  even 
associating  his  name  with  crime. 

"  That  satisfied  me.  '  We  must  do  something  for  him, 
Mr.  Holland!'  I  exclaimed,  warmly.  'This  persecuted 
gentleman  must  not  be  left  to  sink  under  the  assaults  of 
his  vile  enemies.  He  must  live  to  triumph  over  them  !' 

"  Mr.  Holland  grasped  ray  hand  heartily. 

"  '  You  are  right !'  he  said.  '  I  had  already  thought 
of  this,  but  what  is  to  be  done  ?  Arendell  has  never  de 
voted  himself  to  business,  you  can  see  that  by  the  careless 
manner  he  has  conducted  his  own  affairs.  You  may  de 
pend  upon  it,  that  child  of  his  will  never  get  one  cent  of 


340  ALDEANE. 

his  property,  or  freedom,  while  Lucinda  Arendell  lives. 
Blind  fool,  to  trust  to  his  brother's  integrity.  Why,  he 
is  less  than  a  child  in  her  hands,  she  rules  him,  body  and 
eoul.  Now  if  Arendell  had  any  business  talent — ' 

"  '  Perhaps  he  has,  but  it  never  has  been  called  forth. 
Poor  man,  he  has  but  that  one  child  to  think  of  now,  and 
perhaps  if  Arendelt  could  be  placed  in  a  situation,  he 
might  at  some  time  be  rescued  from  bondage.  The  father 
now  is  certainly  the  greatest  consideration.' 

"  '  That  is  true,'  he  replied,  '  and  I  know  that  I  could 
easily  obtain  a  situation  for  him,  if,  as  I  said  before,  he 
had  any  talent  for  business.' 

"  '  It  would  come  with  the  necessity  for  it,'  I  interposed, 
impatiently.  '  His  integrity  you  say,  is  or  was ,  before 
this  unfortunate  affair,  undoubted.' 

" '  Certainly  !  I  would  trust  him  with  untold  millions 
now  !' 

" '  He  is  well  educated,'  I  resumed, '  and  as  a  man  of  hon 
or  he  would  not  neglect  the  business  of  another  as  he  has 
his  own.  On  that  point  I  believe  you  need  have  no  fears.' 

" '  There  is  reason  in  what  you  say,'  said  Holland. 
'  One  thing  is  certain,  ArendelFs  property  is  at  present 
beyond  his  reach,  and  he  must  do  something  to  support 
himself.  Do  you  think  he  would  object  to  going  to 
India  ?' 

" '  On  the  contrary,  I  think  he  would  be  glad  to  go,  for 
he  told  me  that  it  mattered  not  to  him  in  what  part  of 
the  world  he  was  cast.  I  think  he  would  go  anywhere, 
where  he  could  establish  an  honorable  name,  and  be  free 
from  the  persecutions  of  his  enemies.' 

'"Then  I  will  write  to  a  friend  of  mine  who  is  in  want 
of  a  confidential  clerk  to  go  to  Calcutta,  and  if  possible 
secure  the  place  for  Arendell,  if  you  will  excuse  me  for  a 
few  moments.' 

"  I  took  a  cigar  from  the  mantel-piece,  lighted  it,  and 
strolled  out  to  take  a  walk  through  the  streets  of  the  city. 


ALDEANE. 

I  passed  Mr.  Arendell  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  and  asked 
him  to  join  me.  He  did  so.  I  carefully  avoided  any 
allusion  to  the  position  in  prospect  for  him,  but  assured 
him  that  I  would  aid  him  in  every  possible  manner.  He 
begged  me  to  obtain  news  of  his  child,  and  to  watch  the 
movements  of  Jonas  Davis. 

"  '  I  conjure  you  not  to  let  him  escape  my  vengeance  !' 
he  exclaimed.  '  His  fiendish  soul  shall  be  stretched  upon 
the  rack  of  suffering  upon  which  he  has  laid  mine  !  He 
has  deprived  me  of  my  all.  My  good  name,  wife,  and 
children;  all!  all!  save  my  own  honest  nature,  upon 
Avhich  my  only  hopes  depend ;  that,  thank  God,  he  can 
not  rob  me  of !  I  know,  Mr.  Ashton,  that  you  will  assist 
me  to  bring  that  man  to  justice.  When  you  return  to 
America,  I  beg  of  you  in  some  way  to  aid  me  in  the 
accomplishment  of  my  just  revenge,  and  to  watch  over 
my  boy.' 

"  I  promised  him  most  sacredly  to  do  both,  and  talked 
to  him  long  and  cheeringly,  endeavoring  to  throw  over 
the  gloom  of  his  darkened  life  some  ray  of  hope.  I  was 
partially  successful,  for  he  returned  to  the  hotel  in  better 
spirits  than  I  had  ever  seen  him,  and  repeated  a  part  of 
our  conversation  to  Mr.  Holland,  thus  showing  that  it 
had  made  a  favorable  impression  upon  his  mind. 

"  A  few  days  afterward  a  letter  was  received  from  the 
gentleman  to  whom  Mr.  Holland  had  written,  saying  that 
he  would  take  Mr.  Arendell  upon  Mr.  Holland's  recom 
mendation,  and  oifering  a  salary  far  beyond  our  most 
sanguine  expectations.  When  he  heard  of  the  good 
fortune  that  had  befallen  him,  he  seemed  perfectly 
overcome  by  it,  and  in  most  affecting  terms  thanked  us 
both  for  this  assurance  of  our  confidence  and  esteem. 
Although  I  had  done  but  little  to  serve  him,  he  would 
not  believe  it,  but  with  the  most  intense  gratitude  re 
peated  again  and  again  his  sense  of  the  obligations  under 
which  he  was  placed. 


34:2  ALDEANE. 

"  Mr.  Holland  and  his  wife  soon  left  for  America.  He 
was  a  fine  young  man,  and  seemed  likely  to  enjoy  an  un 
clouded  future.  I  parted  with  him  with  feelings  of  regret, 
but  not  doubting  but  that  I  should  soon  see  him  again, 
as  he  intended  to  interest  himself  in  Arendell's  case  at 
the  South,  and  to  let  me  know  all  the  results  of  his  inves 
tigations. 

"  In  a  few  weeks  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Mr. 
Arendell  sail  for  Calcutta. 

"  '  Watch  over  my  poor  boy,  and  aid  me  in  bringing 
my  enemies  to  justice;  and  may  God  reward  you  for  your 
kindness  to  a  broken-hearted  man,'  were  his  last  words, 
as  he  clasped  my  hand  at  parting. 

"  '  I  will !  I  will !  Good-bye  !'  I  replied,  as  I  sprang 
upon  the  dock  and  stood  there  watching  him  with  strange 
interest,  until  the  ship  had  moved  far  up  the  stream,  and 
he  had  become  invisible. 

"  Nearly  six  months  passed  before  I  returned  to  Amer 
ica.  I  had  received  one  letter  from  Arendell,  stating  that 
he  had  safely  arrived,  was  pleased  with  his  situation,  and 
prepared  for  whatever  might  befall  him.  He  begged  me 
to  remember  the  promise  I  had  given  him,  and  I  set  foot 
upon  my  native  shore  fully  intending  to  exert  myself  im 
mediately  in  his  behalf.  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Holland,  but  for 
-a  long  time  received  no  answer.  Then  came  one  from  his 
wife,  giving  the  news  of  his  death.  He  had  died  a  few 
days  before  my  letter  arrived,  and  she  was  preparing  to 
join  her  friends  in  Florida.  Poor  lady !  she  appeared  in 
great  distress.  I  was  greatly  shocked  at  the  sudden 
death  of  this  fine  young  man,  and  it  interfered  sadly  with 
the  plans  I  had  made.  I  could  obtain  no  tidings  of  the 
death  of  Arendell's  wife  or  of  the  child,  for  my  affairs 
required  my  presence  at  home,  and  I  knew  no  one  whom 
I  could  send  on  such  an  errand. 

"  At  this  time  came  my  own  domestic  troubles,  my  wife 
died,  leaving  my  little  daughter  to  my  sole  care.  She 


ALDEANE.  343 

•was  the  image  of  her  mother,  and  to  me  a  priceless 
treasure.  I  bestowed  on  her  all  the  love  which  hitherto 
had  been  divided  between  them.  For  some  time  every 
thing  was  forgotten  in  the  anxiety  I  suffered  on  her 
account.  A  letter  from  Arendell  at  last  aroused  me  to  a 
remembrance  of  the  promise  I  had  made  to  him,  and 
blaming  myself  greatly  for  the  delay  that  had  taken  place, 
I  set  myself  to  work  to  remedy  it.  By  a  lucky  accident 
I  discovered  that  John  Foley,  a  trustworthy  man  who 
had  been  from  boyhood  a  servant  in  my  father's  family, 
was  going  to  North  Carolina,  to  look  after  some  property 
which  had  been  left  him  by  a  distant  relation.  I  imme 
diately  conceived  the  idea  of  gaining  through  him  the 
desired  information.  I  sent  for  him,  and  on  his  arrival  at 
my  office,  told  him  that  I  would  pay  his  expenses  to 
North  Carolina  and  back,  if  he  would  bring  me  all  the 
information  he  could  glean  concerning  one  William  Aren 
dell  and  his  friends,  enjoining  upon  him  the  necessity  of 
acting  with  secresy  and  dispatch. 

"  He  delighted  in  mystery,  and  was  not  very  scrupulous 
in  regard  to  the  manner  of  penetrating  it.  He  readily 
promised  to  do  all  I  wished,  and  he  apparently  did  so,  for 
in  a  few  months  I  was  in  possession  of  many  facts  that 
were  of  great  importance.  Poor  Arendell's  wife  was 
indeed  dead,  and  the  colonel  held  control  over  the 
property,  but  the  slave  child  and  Davis  had  both  dis 
appeared,  not  a  trace  of  them  could  be  discovered.  The 
first  doubtless  had  fled  for  freedom,  the  other  from  his 
creditors,  who  loudly  lamented  their  credulity,  which  had 
been  so  ruthlessly  betrayed  by  that  most  insinuating 
villain. 

"  Upon  Foley's  return  to  Boston  I  received  full  particu 
lars  from  him,  and  here  it  seemed  all  my  inquiries  must 
end.  Of  course  it  was  useless  for  me  to  endeavor  to 
trace  either  of  the  fugitives,  but  I  could  not  totally  give 
the  matter  up,  and  blast  Arendell's  hopes  of  justice.  I 


344:  ALDEANE. 

watched  diligently  for  the  slightest  clew  to  the  where 
abouts  of  either  of  the  missing  ones.  Mr.  Arendell 
seemed  in  despair  when  I  communicated  to  him  the  loss 
of  his  son.  He  wrote  entreating  me  not  to  desist  from 
my  search.  My  paternal  feelings  were  aroused,  and  I  re 
newed  it  with  fresh  energy.  Everywhere  that  I  thought 
the  child  could  possibly  have  strayed,  I  placed  people  on 
the  watch  for  him,  but  with  no  avail.  My  search  for 
Davis  was  not  more  successful :  for  eight  years  I  heard 
nothing  of  him. 

"  One  winter  day  I  left  my  home,  and  went  to  Evans- 
ville,  to  consult  the  well-known  lawyer  from  whom  the  vil 
lage  took  its  name.  I  remained  there  all  night,  intending 
to  go  up  to  the  house  in  the  morning.  A  large  party  had 
gathered  in  the  bar-room,  and  as  I  was  fond  of  observing 
human  nature,  I  took  a  seat  by  the  glowing  fire,  instead 
of  retiring  to  my  own  cheerless  apartment,  and  was  for 
some  time  much  amused  by  the  manners  and  conversa 
tion  of  the  rustic  crowd.  A  song  had  been  demanded, 
and  they  were  wrangling  about  who  should  sing  it,  when 
a  heavy  knock  sounded  upon  the  door,  followed  immedi 
ately  by  the  entrance  of  a  small,  spare  man  who  strode 
up  to  the  fire  without  noticing  any  one. 

"  '  It  is  Jonas  Kevins.     What  can  brinsr  him  here  ?' 

O 

said  one,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  The  name  struck  me  as  natural,  but  I  could  not  for  a 
moment  remember  where  I  had  heard  it.  Meanwhile  I 
regarded  him  attentively.  The  spare,  wiry  figure,  the 
sharp  face,  the  thin  sandy  hair,  and  above  all  the  piercing 
cunning  eyes,  with  their  expression  of  dormant  evil, 
reminded  me  strongly  of  the  description  Arendell  had 
given  of  Jonas  Nevins  Davis,  and  I  immediately  came 
to  the  conclusion  that,  in  the  man  before  me,  I  saw  the 
long-sought  persecutor. 

"  When  he  had  warmed  himself  sufficiently,  he  turned 
and  looked  at  the  company. 


ALDEANE.  315 

'"What  can  bring  you  out  to-night,  Mr.  Xevins?' 
asked  one  of  the  boldest. 

" '  Business  !  business  !'  he  replied,  scowling.  '  I  am  not 
one  to  come  to  such  a  place  to  drink  and  gossip.  When 
I  leave  home  I  do  it  for  some  purpose,  you  know  that,  I 
suppose  ?' 

"  His  questioner  turned  back,  somewhat  abashed,  and 
Davis  again  turned  to  the  fire,  warming  his  hands  before 
it,  by  rubbing  them  softly  and  noiselessly  together,  as  if 
he  were  preparing  them  and  smoothing  them  for  some 
delicate  operation  that  required  the  utmost  nicety  of 
touch.  Such  you  know  was  his  custom  in  the  most  ordi 
nary  matters ;  a  show  of  dexterity  had  in  some  way  to  be 
given  to  all  he  did.  A  gloom  seemed  to  have  fallen  over 
the  hitherto  merry  company.  The  silence  was  first 
broken  by  the  unwelcome  intruder,  who,  turning  suddenly 
around,  said : — 

"  '  I  suppose  you  all  know  that  my  best  farm-hand  has 
left  me  ?  Can  any  of  you  recommend  another  ?' 

" '  Why,  there's  Tom  Stokes,'  said  one,  doubtfully. 
'  Or  Harry  Carter,'  added  another,  in  the  same  tone. 

"  '  I  want  no  such  lazy  clowns  about  me  !'  he  exclaimed, 
impatiently.  '  A  good  man  I  must  have.  I  can  not  do 
without  one  !' 

"  My  mind  was  made  up  in  a  moment.  '  I  think  I  could 
recommend  a  man  that  would  suit  you,  sir,'  I  said, 
politely. 

"  He  regarded  me  for  a  moment  with  a  searching  look, 
and  I  suppose  saw  that  I  was  a  stranger  and  a  gentleman. 
'  I  should  be  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,  if  you  could,'  he 
returned,  respectfully. 

" '  I  should  like  to  speak  to  you  in  private,'  I  said. 

" '  Certainly  !  Here,  landlord,  show  us  into  another 
room.' 

"  He  did  so,  and  we  were  soon  alone. 

"I  i-ecommended  the  servant  I  had   in  view,  in   the 
15* 


346  ALDEANE. 

« 
highest  terms.     He  offered  good  wages,  and  I  promised 

to  send  the  man  down  in  a  few  days.  I  endeavored  by 
many  a  cleverly  put  question  to  find  out  from  whence  he 
came,  but  he  evaded  all  my  inquiries  with  the  most  dex 
terous  replies.  However  I  was  well  satisfied  that  he  was 
none  other  than  the  man  I  sought,  and  made  no  scruple 
in  sending  Foley,  who  was  by  this  time  an  accomplished 
detective,  to  his  house,  to  serve  me  as  I  wished,  and  be 
fore  long,  with  full  instructions,  he  was  domesticated 
there. 

"  A  year  passed,  and  nothing  occurred,  when  one  day 
Foley  came  to  my  house,  and  asked  to  see  me.  Of  course 
he  was  immediately  admitted. 

"  He  told  me  that  on  the  day  before,  when  going  up  to 
the  garret,  he  heard  an  exclamation  of  surprise  from 
Mrs.  Nevins,  and  looking  cautiously  in — for  he  was 
always  upon  the  look-out  for  such  surprises — he  saw  her 
suddenly  raise  from  the  floor  a  small  box,  which  she 
recognized,  and  which  appeared  to  fill  her  with  the  great 
est  consternation  and  surprise.  She  wrested  open  the 
lid,  and  eagerly  perused  the  letters,  which  it  is  almost 
needless  to  say,  were  afterward  brought  to  me  by  the 
faithful  Foley.  Or  at  least,  all  save  the  one  which  you 
will  find  indorsed  with  the  name  of  Evans.  I  will  explain 
to  you  when  we  meet,  why  I  did  not  at  once  endeavor 
to  procure  this  letter  from  Mrs.  Nevins,  and  the  letter 
itself  will  explain  how  impossible  it  was  for  us  to  proceed 
against  Nevins  without  the  important  testimony  it  con 
tained. 

"  Of  what  occurred  after  these  letters  came  into  my 
possession,  and  while  we  waited  for  the  most  important,  I 
need  say  nothing.  You  will  conjecture  that  I  was  in  con 
stant  communication  with  Mr.  Arendell,  and  that  my  in 
terest  in  Arthur  and  yourself,  sprang  from  the  fact  of 
your  near  connection  with  his  late  wife,  and  his  still  exist 
ing  enemy. 


ALDEANE.  347 

"  I  have  heard  you  call  me,  my  child,  the  most  artless 
of  men,  what  will  you  say  when  you  know  that  in  all  my 
intercourse  with  you  I  have  been  the  most  designing. 
But  I  throw  myself  upon  your  mercy. 

"CHABLKS  ASHTON." 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

IMPORTANT   CORRESPONDENCE. 

ALDEANE  smiled  as  she  read  Mr.  Ashton's  appeal. 
There  seemed  something  almost  absurd  in  his  offering 
any  excuse  for  a  dissemblement  which  had  been  caused 
by  such  worthy  and  totally  disinterested  motives.  But 
without  pausing  long  to  think  of  this  she  turned  to  the 
package  of  letters,  which  she  perceived  were  copies  of  the 
originals,  and  were  neatly  folded  and  numbered. 

The  first  which  she  opened  was  quite  short,  and  bore 
no  date. 

"  MY  DEAR  N". : — 

"  You  did  well  to  leave  here,  as  soon  as  your  bird  had 
flown,  for  the  excitement  throughout  the  country  has 
been  greater  than  ever.  L.  is  nearly  mad  with  rage 
at  the  escape.  A.  is  seriously  ill,  as  was  of  course  to  be 
expected.  I  shall  write  you  again  in  a  few  days.  Isn't 
New  York  a  dangerous  place  to  stay  in  ?  He  is  more 
likely  to  be  waiting  there  than  any  place  else. 

"P.  S.     A.  A.  died  yesterday."  "  Yours,  R.  B. 

The  second  epistle  was  far  more  explicit,  and  was 
addressed  to 

"  JONAS  NEVINS,  Esq. : — So  you  saw  Arendell  off  for 
Europe  yesterday.  You  were  wise  to  let  him  go,  for  you 
have  had  your  revenge,  and  L.  is  far  more  at  ease  with 
the  width  of  the  ocean  between  her  and  her  husband's 
brother.  I  am  surprised  that  you  should  waste  so 


ALDEANE.  340 

much  maudlin  sentimentality  over  a  woman's  death,  es 
pecially  one  whose  heart  you  deliberately  broke.  There 
was  some  excuse  for  my  shedding  a  few  tears,  for  I 
had  no  grudge  either  against  her  or  Arendell,  and  after 
all,  L.  has  given  me  but  half  the  money  we  have  fooled 
out  of  her  doting  husband,  which  is  hardly  fair  after  all' 
the  risk  I  ran. 

"  For  even  after  you  had  got  the  money  from  the  safe, 
and  given  those  few  wrenches  to  the  lock  and  window, 
you  know  you  would  never  have  gotten  it  into  Arendell's 
house  but  for  me.  So  you'll  see,  Kevins,  that  I  don't 
consider  myself  half  paid,  and  the  only  way  for  you  to 
keep  me  from  telling  a  tale  that  you  wouldn't  want  to 
hear,  is  for  you  to  refrain  from  bothering  Lucinda  for 
money,  as  I  want  for  myself  all  that  she  can  spare. 
What  I  should  advise  you  to  do  would  be  to  go  some 
where  and  get  lost,  for  I've  wit  enough  to  know  that  I 
can  make  myself  safe  at  any  time  by  turning  State's 
evidence.  After  all,  I  simply  put  a  sum  of  money  in  a 
man's  safe,  while  you,  on  the  contrary,  abstracted  one  from 
the  bank  of  which  you  were  cashier.  And  by  the  way,  your 
Avork  was  bunglingly  done,  for  any  expert  would  have 
seen  at  once,  that  a  crow-bar  had  nothing  to  do  with 
forcing  back  that  lock,  though  I  must  say  you  defaced 
the  door  very  perfectly,  and  I  winder  how  you  did  it  so 
quietly. 

"  By  the  way,  you  asked  me  something  about  Arendell's 
child.  No,  it  did  not  die,  but  on  the  contrary  was  one  of 
the  finest  little  girls  I  ever  saw.  Lu  wanted  it,  but  a 
sister  of  Mrs.  A.'s  interfered,  and  giving  up  all  the  prop 
erty  to  the  just  [?]  demands  of  the  creditors,  took  off 
the  child  in  a  state  of  most  virtuous  and  heroic  indigna 
tion,  saying  it  should  never  even  bear  the  name  of  its  vile 
father — so  you  may  guess  how  he  is  looked  upon  here." 

Aldeane  paused  and  trembled  violently — a  suspicion  of 
the  truth  at  this  moment  dawned  upon  her.  Could  it  be 


350  ALDEANE. 

that  she She  would  not  trust  herself  to  conjecture 

more,  but  wildly  read  on : — 

"The  queerest  thing  of  all  is,  that  this  sister  has  since 
disappeared  from  her  home.  She  has  sold  out  every 
thing  and  gone  North.  Of  course  no  one  but  ourselves 
are  particularly  interested  in  her  whereabouts,  but  as  a 
friend,  my  dear  Nevins,  I  should  advise  you  to  look  out 
for  Mrs.  Guthrie,  a  widow  with  two  children,  the  eldest 
really  her  own  son,  the  second  a  girl  which  passes  for 
her  daughter." 

The  letter  slipped  from  Aldeane's  grasp,  and  she  fell 
to  the  floor  unconscious.  The  surprise  was  too  great  for 
her  to  bear.  How  long  this  swaon  continued  she  could 
never  tell,  but  some  one  rapped  at  the  door  and  sum 
moned  her  to  tea  before  she  noticed  that  night  had  come, 
and  it  flashed  upon  her  that  she  was  the  child  of  the 
unfortunate  William  Arendell,  and  of  Alice  his  wife, 
whose  tragical  fate,  so  often  hinted  at,  had  but  then  been 
made  fully  known  to  her.  And  Mr.  Ashton,  and  her 
father,  how  long  had  her  identity  been  known  to  them  ? 
She  turned  eagerly  to  the  back  of  the  letter,  and  saw 
inscribed  thereon  the  name  of  Evans.  It  was  the  letter 
her  supposed  mother  had  secreted ;  and  trembling  with 
emotion  she  concluded  its  perusal : — 

"  There  is  one  pom*  Lucinda  is  anxious  upon,  and 
that  is  that  you  should  take  some  other  name.  Dropping 
the  Davis  is,  in  your  case,  not  enough,  for  your  other 
names,  Jonas  Nevins,  are  too  well  known  here  not  to  be 
recognized  immediately  by  that  woman  if  she  has  a  par 
ticle  of  sense,  which  it  is  safe  to  suppose  she  has. 

"I  protest  against  any  further  demands  for  money. 
You  knowLu  gave  you  a  round  three  thousand  for  simply 
abstracting  a  few  hundreds  from  that  old  safe,  and  coun 
terfeiting  Arendell' s  writing  in  that  stupid  letter  to 
Holland.  That  was  really  rich — just  such  a  maudlin  lot 
of  nonsense  as  he  would  be  expected  to  write  about  that 


ALDEANE.  351 

boy,  whom,  by  the  way,  L holds  with  a  tight  rein 

now. 

"  Let  me  know  by  what  name  to  address  you  next. 

"  Yours  ever,  R.  BLAKE." 

The  name  of  the  overseer  in  full,  no  attempt  at  disguise, 
but  rather  a  blazoning  forth  of  his  own  identity,  and  that 
of  the  man  and  woman  who  had  conspired  to  ruin  William 
Arendell — her  father — her  father. 

How  she  longed  to  fly  to  him,  and  throwing  her  arms 
around  him  promise  him  all  a  daughter's  love  and  duty, 
as  she  sobbed  upon  his  bosom  all  a  true-hearted  woman's 
pity.  Then  she  thought  with  a  faltering  heart  that  he 
must  have  heard  of  her  existence  coolly,  else  he  would 
have  hurried  to  claim  her  as  his  child,  and  clasp  her  to 
his  heart.  But  that  thought  she  would  not  harbor  for  a 
moment.  No,  no,  no !  he  was  waiting  to  justify  himself, 
to  prove  not  only  to  her,  but  to  the  whole  world  his  inno 
cence  before  he  would  suffer  her  name  to  be  mingled 
with  his.  It  was  all  that  was  generous,  all  that  was 
noble,  and  she  firmly  said  she  would  await  patiently  his 
own  time,  even  while  she  felt  that  to  her  the  greatest 
joy  on  earth  would  be  to  be  clasped  in  her  father's  em 
brace,  to  declare  to  him  that  she  believed  him  innocent, 
even  if  the  whole  world  was  against  him. 

When  she  grew  calmer  she  read  the  other  letters,  not 
one  of  which  contained  any  reference  to  her  as  William 
Arendell's  child.  Though  there  were  plentiful  comments 
upon  Davis's  obstinacy  in  still  retaining  the  name  of 
Nevins,  a  great  many  humorous  jests  upon  Mrs.  Guthrie's 
dullness  in  not  recognizing  him,  and  much  admiration  of 
the  boldness  of  Davis  in  making  her  his  wife,  and  various 
allusions  to  money  matters,  in  which  it  was  shown  that 
Lucinda  Arendell  to  the  day  of  her  death  had  been  forced 
to  propitiate  with  large  sums  her  insatiable  coadjutor  in 
revenge.  There  was,  also,  some  mention  made  of  the 


352  ALDEANE. 

flight  of  Junius,  though  that  was  evidently  considered  a 
matter  of  secondary  importance.  The  last  letter  alone 
particularly  interested  Aldeane.  It  contained  full  partic 
ulars  of  the  death  of  Mrs.  Arendell,  and  warned  Nevins 
of  the  utter  uselessness  of  applying  to  the  writer  for 
further  remittances,  or  of  threatening  Colonel  Arendell, 
who  had  been  prepared  by  his  wife's  confession  to  declare 
his  brother's  innocence,  and  challenge  a  second  investiga 
tion  of  the  matter,  which  might  prove  troublesome  to 
Nevins,  however  securely  he  might  fancy  himself  hidden. 

"And  now,"  concluded  the  letter,  "we  are  excellent 
friends,  and  as  friends  let  us  part.  It  is  far  safest  for 
both  of  us  that  we  now  die  to  each  other.  We  have 
mutual  interests  in  preserving  this  secret,  but  can  have 
none  for  tormenting  ourselves  with  the  discussion  of  it. 
So  far  our  little  venture  has  paid  us  well,  and  there  is  no 
occasion  for  us  to  encroach  upon  each  other.  All  you  have 
to  do  is  to  keep  your  wife  as  well  blinded  as  she  is  now, 
and  I  will  take  care  to  keep  the  conscience  and  guard  the 
tongue  of  John  Arendell.  There  can  be  no  reason  for  your 
answering  this,  so  here  we  part. 

"  Wishing  you  success,  I  remain  yours,  R.  B." 

But  one  paper  now  remained  to  be  read,  that  was 
indorsed  with  the  name  of  Evans,  and  as  Aldeane  opened 
it  she  recognized  the  handwriting  of  her  whom  she  had 
loved  and  mourned  as  a  mother.  It  was  the  document 
which  Arthur  had  so  long  believed  in  existence,  and  had 
so  anxiously  sought.  It  was  a  full  confession  of  the  plot 
which  had  been  planned  against  William  Arendell  by  his 
brother's  wife,  Lucinda  Arendell,  and  the  cashier  of  the 
bank,  Jonas  Nevins  Davis,  and  of  its  execution  by  them, 
assisted  by  Richard  Blake.  This  confession  was  signed 
by  Jonas  Nevins  Davis,  alias  Jonas  Nevins,  and  wit 
nessed  by  John  Foley  and  Ann  Conway. 

Beneath  this  these  words  wore  written : 


ALD2ANE.  353 

"  I  have  signed  the  above  confession,  which  I  swear  to 
be  true  in  every  particular,  in  earnest  of  the  sincerity 
with  which  I  bind  myself — in  consideration  of  my  wife's 
clemency,  in  withholding  from  the  public  the  secret  she 
has  gained — to  educate,  at  my  sole  cost,  Arthur  Guthrie, 
the  son  of  the  late  Arthur  Guthrie,  of ,  North  Caro 
lina,  and  Ellen  his  wife,  and  also  the  child  known  as 
theirs,  but  who  is  in  truth  Aldeane  Arendell,  the  daughter 

of  William  Arendell,  of ,  North  Carolina,  and  Alice 

his  wife. 

"JCXNA.S  NEVINS  DAVIS." 

This  then  was  the  bond  of  which  Mrs.  Nevins  had 
faintly  made  mention  upon  her  death-bed.  The  bond 
and  confession  which  she  had  wrested  from  him  in  his 
mortal  terror,  and  which  had  more  than  once  thereafter 
placed  her  very  life  in  jeopardy.  It  seemed  to  Aldeane 
that  nothing  more  complete  than  the  evidence  before  her 
could  be  needed.  One  of  the  witnesses  to  this  bond  she 
knew  was  alive,  and  these  letters  of  Blake's  were  they  not 
overwhelming  proofs  of  the  guilt  of  himself  and  his 
wretched  confidant.  She  could  not  imagine  why  Mr. 
Ashton  had  said  they  should  need  her  aid.  What  could 
she  do,  that  had  not  already  been  done?  For  hours  she 
paced  her  room  nearly  wild  with  excitement  and  when  the 
darkness  and  stillness  of  night  had  settled  upon  the  place, 
feeling  choked  and  stifled  with  the  closeness  of  her  room 
she  stole  down  into  the  gardens,  and  wandered  up  and 
down,  thinking,  thinking,  thinking,  till  it  seemed  as  if  her 
heart  and  brain  would  burst. 

Had  Arthur  known  this  long  ?  Would  he  love  her  still 
as  his  sister?  Had  Blake  escaped?  These  were  the 
totally  dissimilar  questions  that  pursued  her,  until  at  last 
she  resolved  to  silence  the  last  at  least,  and  hurrying  to 
Aunt  Roxy's  cabin  called  her  out  and  boldly  asked  if 
ausfht  had  been  heard  of  him. 


354  ALDEANE. 

"  Why  laws,  yes  !"  cried  Aunt  Iloxy,  starting  back  in 
amazement.  Dey  done  "  rested  him  dis  bressed  mornin'. 
Massa  William's  come  back,  and  Mass  Richard  he  robbed 
de  bank,  and  dat  oder  fellah  dat  hated  Mass  William  so. 
An'  bress  ye,  jest  come  in,  Miss  Aldeane,  an'  Samiry'll  tell 
ye  all  about  it;  an'  de  Lord  knows  I  al'ays  said  Mass 
William  neber  took  dat  money,  an'  I  reckon  though  Mass 
John  swore  he'd  sell  us  all  if  we  breaved  a  word  to  ye, 
I  guess  ole  Roxy'll  tell  you  now  !" 

And  so  Aldeane,  half  fainting,  was  thrust  into  a  chair  to 
hear  once  more  the  tale  of  her  father's  shame,  and  her 
mother's  broken  heart,  and  though  more  than  once  she 
seemed  swooning  away,  and  found  relief  only  in  violent 
weeping,  she  kept  inviolate  the  secret  of  her  birth,  and 
left  the  cabin  at  length  with  persuasions  of  her  father's 
innocence  so  infinitely  strengthened  that  no  power  of 
earth  or  heaven  would  for  an  instant  have  had  power  to 
cast  a  doubt  upon  it. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

ALDEANE'S  MISSION  AND  ITS  RESULTS. 

"  AND  what  ?"  said  Aldeane,  upon  the  next  morning, 
when  Mr.  Ashton  greeted  her — "  What  aid  can  I  give 
in  proving  my  father's  innocence  ?  Are  not  these  letters 
conclusive  ?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Ashton,  gravely,  "for  Blake's  are 
written  in  an  assumed  hand ;  there  are  no  persons  but 
Arthur  and  yourself — interested  witnesses  the  defendants 
will  declare — to  prove  that  the  others  are  in  the  hand 
writing  of  Mrs.  Nevins — or  Davis,  I  should  say." 

"  But  does  Blake  deny  that  he  wrote  those  letters  ?" 
demanded  Aldeane,  breathlessly. 

"  He  denies  any  complicity  in  the  robbery,  which  is 
equivalent  to  that,"  answered  Mr.  Ashton.  "  And  the 
handwriting  of  these  letters  is  so  different  from  his  own, 
that  unless  he  is  induced  to  make  a  confession,  our  case 
will  be  an  exceedingly  difficult  one  to  maintain." 

Aldeane  remained  for  some  time  in  deep  thought,  and 
then  she  briefly  related  the  ex-overseer's  persecution  of" 
herself,  and  cited  the  mysterious  threats  and  promises 
which  he  had  often  used.  "  And  now,"  she  concluded, 
"  I  think  I  understand  what  you  wish  me  to  do.  You  wish 
me  to  induce  Mr.  Blake  to  become  State's  evidence." 

"  Exactly,"  replied  Mr.  Ashton.  "  Not  but  what  we 
are  certain  of  success  without  it.  But  your  father  has 
the  greatest  objection  to  bringing  his  brother  upon  the 
stand,  and  forcing  his  late  wife's  confession  from  his  lips." 

"  Ah,   how    generous !"   cried    Aldeane.      "  Oh,   Mr. 


356  ALDEANE. 

Ashton,  how  I  long  to  see  my  father.     Why  will  he  not 
allow  me  to  hasten  to  him  ?" 

And  then  Mr.  Ashton  told  her  of  the  wild  joy  of  Mr. 
Arendell,  when  he  found  that  his  child  still  lived,  but 
after  his  first  passionate  delight  was  passed,  when  he 
found  himself  in  the  same  country,  in  the  same  State,  he 
felt  that  he  could  not  see  her  until  he  had  cleared  away 
the  reproach  that  rested  upon  him,  until  she  could 
embrace  him  without  a  doubt. 

"  I  could  do  that  now !"  cried  Aldeane,  with  tears. 
"  Indeed,  indeed,  I  could  !  Oh,  Mr.  Ashton,  I  feel  so  lost. 
My  darling  brother,  mine  no  longer,  my  newly-declared 
father " 

She  paused,  and  then  with  a  scream  ran  forward,  and 
was  clasped  in  Arthur's  arms. 

"  What,  you  cold-hearted  girl !"  he  exclaimed,  embra 
cing  her  warmly.  "  Have  you  already  discarded  me  ?" 

But  she  could  only  sob,  and  call  him  her  dear  brother, 
her  dear,  dear  brother,  and  when  she  grew  calmer  he 
told  her,  what  Mr.  Xevins  had  said  of  her  years  before, 
upon  the  day  his  mother  was  buried. 

"  And  of  course,  although  I  suspected  whose  child 
you  were,  I  dared  not  mention  it,"  interrupted  Mr.  Ash 
ton,  wiping  his  eyes  and  coughing  vehemently.  "  You 
see  your  mother  had  the  only  letter  that  referred  to  the 
matter,  and  I  dared  not  raise  hopes  that  I  couldn't  con 
firm." 

And  then  Arthur  told  her  how  Charles  Evans  had 
found  the  long-lost  documents,  and  handed  them  to  him 
as  a  wedding  gift,  and  how  copies  of  them  had  been  for 
warded  to  Mr.  Arendell,  at  Calcutta,  and  how  they  had 
not  reached  him  until  Avceks  after  they  should  have  done 
so,  and  how  he  (Arthur)  had  thought  he  never  would 
come,  and  enable  him  to  defy  the  enemy  that  was  secretly 
ruining  him,  and  finally  the  consternation  and  surprise 
of  Xevins  upon  his  arrest,  and  the  necessity  that  existed 


ALDEANE.  35T 

for  Blake's  confession,  in  order  that  the  exposure  of 
certain  family  matters  should  be  avoided. 

And  then  very  quietly,  without  saying  a  word,  Al- 
deane  went  up-stairs,  and  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl, 
and  when  she  reappeared,  Arthur  without  a  word  co  - 
ducted  her  to  a  carriage  which  was  waiting  at  the  door, 
and  accompanied  by  Mr.  Ashton  they  proceeded  rapidly 
toward  Loring. 

She  spoke  but  once  upon  the  way,  and  that  was  just 
before  the  carriage  stopped  before  the  prison  door.  "  I 
am  at  liberty,  I  suppose,"  she  said  thej^'  to  promise  Mr. 
Blake  that  if  he  makes  a  free  confession,  no  proceedings 
will  be  taken  against  him ;  that  Mr.  Xevins  alone  will  be 
tried  for  this  offense  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Mr.  Ashton  and  Arthur,  simul 
taneously;  and  drawing  her  veil  closely  over  her  face, 
Aldeaue  followed  them  into  the  prison,  and  ten  minutes 
later  found  hersejf  alone  with  Richard  Blake. 

Need  I  say  how  long  and  difficult  her  task  proved, 
how  determined  he  was,  that  if  there  was  a  disclosure  of 
the  real  perpetrators  of  the  crime,  there  should  be  dis 
closures  also  of  all  that  preceded  and  followed  that 
crime.  She  remained  with  him  hours,  alternately  plead 
ing  with  and  threatening  him,  and  at  last  was  triumph 
ant.  She  did  what  all  Mr.  Arendell's  lawyers,  what  Mr. 
Arendell  himself  had  failed  to  do,  she  wrested  from 
Richard  Blake  a  full  confession  of  the  genuineness  of  the 
letters,  and  the  minutest  particulars  of  the  plot  which 
had  driven  William  Arendell  to  a  wretched  exile,  and  his 
young  wife  to  an  early  grave. 

A  week  later,  the  most  famous  trial  for  perjury  that 
had  ever  taken  place  -in  the  State,  came  off.  The  evidence 
was  perfect,  though  he  who  knew  more  than  any — Colonel 
Arendell — was  not  once  called  upon  the  stand,  and  Wil 
liam  Arendell  went  forth  from  the  court-house  cleared 
of  the  stain  which  had  rested  upon  him  for  more  than 


ALDEANE. 

twenty  years.  Richard  Blake  followed  him,  bowed  down 
with  shame,  and  Jonas  Nevins  Davis  remained  in  impo 
tent  fury  in  the  self-same  jail  to  which  he  had  once  con 
signed  his  innocent  rival. 

The  excitement  that  ensued  upon  the  conclusion  of 
the  trial  was  almost  frightful.  A  thousand  friendly 
hands  were  thrust  toward  William  Arendell,  and  as 
many  voices  called  his  name,  as,  overpowered  by  emotion, 
he  sank  upon  a  seat,  and  whispered  his  brother's  name 
for  Colonel  Arendell  was  there — there  on  his  knees 
before  the  brother,  he  had  wronged — not,  as  he  cried  with 
tears,  at  the  first,  not  at  the  first,  but  in  concealing  his 
innocence  when  his  dying  wife  had  declared  it  to  him. 

"  My  God,  rise !  Do  you  not  see  all  these  people  ?" 
cried  William  Arendell,  drawing  back. 

"  I  see  them  all !"  replied  Colonel  Arendell.  "  Before 
them  all,  I  pray  you  to  forgive  me." 

Mr.  Arendell  looked  anxiously  into  the  upturned  face. 
"  My  child  !  my  child  !"  he  said,  brokenly.  "  Have  you 
been  just  to  her." 

"  Ah,  brother,  I  fear  not  just !  not  just !  Yet,  for  years 
she  has  been  dear  to  me  as  my  own  daughter,"  was  the 
reply. 

"Let  old  differences  be  forgotten,  then,  as  they  are 
forgiven,"  said  Mr.  Arendell,  and  the  hands  of  the  two 
brothers  met  in  the  warm  clasp  of  reconciliation. 

"  William  Arendell !  William  Arendell !"  sounded  on 
all  sides,  and  a  hundred  friendly  hands  were  extended 
toward  him. 

He  was  soon  replying  to  the  congratulations  and 
inquiries  of  numerous  citizens,  and  it  was  long  ere  he 
found  himself  outside  the  court-house  door.  A  carriage 
was  standing  there.  Colonel  Arendell  opened  the  door, 
and  invited  his  brother  to  enter. 

He  extended  the  invitation  to  Mr.  Ashton,  Arthur,  and 
Mr.  Evans ;  but  those  gentlemen,  knowing  that  the  brothers 


ALDEANE.  359 

would  prefer  to  be  alone,  declined,  promising,  however,  to 
meet  them  at  dinner.  As  they  moved  away,  they  became 
aware  that  the  horses  had  been  removed,  and  that  strong 
and  willing  hands  were  drawing  the  carriage  onward, 
while  enthusiastic  hurrahs  for  William  Arendell  rent 
the  air. 

"  To  Grassmere !"  shouted  a  voice. 

"  Where  is  my  child  ?"  cried  William  Arendell. 

And  with  still  wilder  cheers,  the  excited  throng  turned 
down  the  road  that  led  to  Arendell  House. 

And  at  that  moment  Aldeane  paced  her  own  room, 
half  wild  with  excitement,  for  Charles  Evans,  who  had 
acted  as  Mr.  Arendell's  counsel,  had  already  brought  the 
news  of  her  father's  triumph,  and  he  would  be  there  pres 
ently,  and  she  would  be  clasped  in  his  arms,  he  would  call 
her  his  daughter.  She  trembled  and  grew  faint  with  emo 
tion,  and  then  she  heard  wild  shouts  in  the  distance  and, 
knowing  what  they  portended,  rushed  eagerly  to  the 
window,  and,  as  she  saw  the  tumultuous  crowd  advancing, 
shrank  back  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  After 
ward,  although  she  had  not  power  to  look  or  move,  she 
knew  the  carriage  had  stopped  before  the  door,  and  she 
heard,  above  the  din  without,  one  strange  voice  within 
the  house,  calling  for  his  daughter,  she  heard  a  footstep 
at  her  door,  and  rushed  forward,  and  was  clasped  in  her 
father's  arms. 

At  first,  she  could  neither  see  nor  hear  any  thing,  and 
then  she  beheld  a  dark-bearded  face,  which  was  strangely 
familiar,  bending  over  her,  and  a  strong  man  clasping  her 
to  his  breast,  and  sobbing :  "  My  daughter,  my  Alice ! 
speak  to  me,  darling  !" 

"  Father,"  she  murmured,  "  love  me  !  Oh,  love  me,  if 
but  for  my  mother's  sake ;"  and  then  she  burst  into  a 
passion  of  tears,  and  clung  to  him  convulsively. 

Need  we  say  how  the  next  hour  was  passed,  and  how 
at  the  end  of  that  time  her  father  led  her  to  the  rooms  be- 


360  ALDEANE, 

low,  and  they  received  together  the  congratulations  of 
their  assembled  friends.  Mrs.  Arendell  could,  indeed,  say 
but  little,  for  she  seemed  dazed  by  the  revelations  of  the 
past  hour ;  and  when  Aldeane  grew  calmer,  she  saw  that 
all  the  other  faces  were  white,  as  if  with  some  suppressed 
emotion ;  and  suddenly  the  truth  burst  upon  her,  and  she 
cried,  "  Something  has  happened  to  that  miserable  man. 
What  is  it  ?  Oh,  tell  me  what  ?" 

Her  father  grew  deadly  pale,  as  he  echoed  the  question, 
and  Arthur,  hesitatingly,  replied :  "  I  meant  not  to  have 
told  you,  Aldeane;  it  will  be  a  shock  to  your  gentle 
heart." 

"  He  has  killed  himself,"  she  murmured  faintly. 

"  Yes." 

"  My  God !"  cried  Mr.  Arendell,  "  is  it  possible  they 
have  been  so  careless,  that  they  left  him  for  a  moment 
alone  ?  How  did  he  effect  the  deed  ?" 

Arthur  drew  Mr.  Arendell  aside,  that  Aldeane  might 
not  hear  the  shocking  particulars,  and  then  briefly  related 
them.  The  prisoner,  with  a  small  penknife,  which  he  had 
managed  to  conceal  about  his  person,  had  cut  the  veins 
of  his  wrists,  and  had  bled  to  death  in  a  few  minutes — 
was  perfectly  dead  when  discovered. 

And  so  the  deep-dyed  villain  was  gone — gone  in  this 
horrible  manner,  without  hope,  without  repentance,  to 
meet  an  avenging  God.  William  Arendell  shuddered  as 
he  listened.  It  was  horrible,  horrible,  and  threw  deep 
gloom  upon  his  joy,  and  Aldeane,  the  one  he  had  wronged 
as  deeply,  as  he  had  even  William  Arendell,  wept  wildly 
over  his  dreadful  fate,  and  long  refused  to  be  comforted. 

But  calmer  thoughts  came  with  the  evening,  the  blessed 
evening  which  she  spent  at  her  father's  side,  in  the  midst 
of  the  reunited  family. 


t 

4 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

A   TARDY     EXPLANATION. 

BUT,  with  a  heart  filled  with  conflicting  emotions,  and 
her  brain  perplexed  in  vain  endeavors  to  realize  fully 
her  new  position,  Aldeanc  could  not  feel  perfectly  at 
ease  in  any  society,  especially  that  of  her  newly-found 
father ;  but  not  until  a  late  hour  was  she  suffered  to  leave 
them.  When  she  arose  to  retire,  Mr.  Evans  placed  in  her 
hands  a  small  package,  saying : — 

"  Miss  Arendell,  here  is  the  last  message  of  your  more 
than  mother  to  her  adopted  daughter.  I  can  not  say  that 
I  am  sorry  that  it  has  for  so  long  remained  hidden  in  my 
custody,  as  it  would  doubtless  have  filled  your  heart  with 
anguish  to  have  read  of  your  father's  dreary  exile,  while, 
since  he  has  returned  to  you,  you  can  contemplate  it  with 
less  sorrow,  and  with  none  of  the  dire  forebodings  and 
wild  conjectures  that  would  then  have  tortured  you.  God 
grant,"  he  added,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  that  all  your  days 

may  be  happy  as  this — but  mine "  he  looked  at  her 

Avistfully  a  moment,  then  turned  sorrowfully  away. 

With  her  gentle  eyes  suffused  with  tears  Aldeane  left 
him,  and  ascended  to  her  own  apartment.  The  bright 
moonlight  was  streaming  through  the  lightly  curtained 
windows,  flooding  it  with  a  calm  pearly  light,  that  touched 
all  things  as  if  with  the  hand  of  enchantment,  throwing 
over  all  a  magic  beauty.  The  solemn  whip-poor-will 
monotonously  repeated  its  mournful  cry,  and  the  river's 
ni gilt-loving  myriads  croaked  shrilly,  x  answering  each 
other  from  bank  to  bank.  She  went  to  the  window,  and 
IH 


362  ALDEANE. 

for  a  time  contemplated  the  rare  scene  of  beauty  before 
her.  The  moon  had  risen  high  in  the  heavens,  far  above 
the  surrounding  forests  of  tall  pines,  leaving  them  darkly 
defined  against  the  clear  expanse  of  sky.  A  fairy  land 
of  sloping  fields  and  groves  and  white-walled  cottages 
seemed  bounded  by  the  dark  impenetrable  frame-work. 
A  delicious  reverie  was  binding  its  silken  chains  around 
her,  but,  remembering  her  mother's  unread  epistle,  she 
turned  with  a  sigh  from  the  enchanting  scene  before  her, 
and  lighting  her  lamp,  broke  the  seal  and  saw  traced  in  her 
mother's  well-known  characters  the  name  "  Aldeane  Guth- 
rie  Arendell." 

Tears  filled  her  eyes  at  the  sight  of  the  familiar  writing, 
and  blurred  the  sheet  she  had  opened.  She  read  it  all. 
The  story  of  her  father's  exile,  her  mother's  death,  and 
of  the  ill-fated  marriage  of  her  adopted  parent  with  Jo 
nas  Nevins,  whom,  too  late,  she  discovered  to  be  the  vile 
and  treacherous  Davis,  who  had  ruined  Arendell  and 
broken  the  heart  of  his  wife.  The  letter  closed  with  an 
earnest  appeal  to  Aldeane,  to  return  to  Colonel  Arendell, 
and,  if  possible,  to  obtain  from  him  at  least  a  part  of  her 
unjustly-kept  property. 

She  could  but  reflect  how  signally  Providence  had  led 
her  on,  placing  her  in  the  path  that  she  might  have  sought 
through  life  in  vain.  With  a  deep  sense  of  her  own 
weakness,  she  made  her  orisons  to  God,  and  lay  down 
not  to  sleep,  but  to  wander  in  the  labyrinthian  land  of 
reveiie  till  morning,  then  she  fell  asleep,  and  the  sun  was 
shining  brightly  when  she  awoke.  The  voices  of  the 
gentlemen  upon  the  piazza,  was  the  first  sound  that 
greeted  her,  as,  hastily  arising,  she  made  her  simple  toilet. 
She  stood  before  the  glass,  smoothing  back  her  dark,  lus 
trous  hair,  wThen  the  door  was  softly  opened,  and  Jessie's 
bright  face  peeped  in.  • 

"Dear  Miss  Aldeane!"  she  exclaimed,  coming  in  at 
her  invitation,  "  I  am  so  glad  you  are  up !" 


ALDEANE.  863 

Aldeane  sat  down,  drawing  the  beautiful  child  nearer 
to  her,  Jessie  laid  a  fragrant  store  of  blossoms  in  her  lap, 
then  for  a  moment  regarding  her,  doubtfully  said  : — 

"  Miss  Aldeane,  ma  told  me  that  you  are  my  cousin.  Is 
it  true  ?  Ma  never  does  tell  stories,  but  it  is  so  strange  !" 

"  It  is  perfectly  true,  my  dear  Jessie  !"  replied  Aldeane, 
embracing  her. 

"  I  never  even  knew  I  had  an  Uncle  William  until  last 
night ;  and  are  you  his  daughter  for  sure  ?"  she  returned, 
still  slightly  incredulous. 

Aldeane  laughed.  "  Are  you  then  really  so  unwilling 
to  own  me  as  a  relative,  Jessie  ?" 

"  Oh !  dear  Miss  Aldeane,  you  know  I'm  not,  I  love  you 
better  than  any  one  else  in  the  world  !"  cried  the  child, 
impulsively. 

"  Ah  !"  she  continued,  sighing  as  she  glanced  at  their 
mourning  garments, "  how  delighted  sister  Leonore  would 
have  been !" 

"  She  is  happier  in  heaven,  dear  Jessie,  than  she  could 
ever  have  been  on  earth !"  replied  Aldeane,  her  eyes  fill 
ing  with  tears. 

"  Here  is  some  swamp  dogwood,"  said  Jessie,  "  I 
brought  to  you,  Miss  Aldeane,  because  she  used  to  love  it 
so  well,  she  used  to  say  that  the  fairies  had  taken  acorn- 
cups  and  colored  them  crimson  and  filled  them  with  corals 
for  ornaments  for  the  water-spirits,  and  that  we  ought 
not  to  rob  them  by  stringing  them  like  beads  to  wear  on 
our  necks.  I  planted  a  rose-bush  on  her  grave,  that  I 
split  off  the  very  one  that  this  came  from,"  she  went 
on  sadly,  singling  out  a  white  rose-bud  from  the  flowers 
that  lay  in  Aldeane's  lap,  "  and  it  is  growing  finely.  I 
put  a  crimson  one  on  Mr.  Raymond's  grave,  and  that  is 
growing,  too.  I  hope  that  they  will  get  so  large  that 
they  will  mingle  together,  for  you  know  they  loved  each 
other  so." 

She  spoke  with  childlike  earnestness,  gazing  pensively 


3t54  ALDEANE. 

upon  the  flowers.  "  Ma  told  me  to  ask  you,"  she  said  at 
length,  "  to  love  me  and  her  as  you  have  always  done, 
and  not  to  hate  poor  papa,  but  to  love  him  for  all  our 
sakes,  chiefly  that  of  his  dead  daughter.  What  did  she 
mean,  Miss  Allie.  She  made  me  repeat  the  words  over 
ever  so  many  times?  What  has  papa  done?  Please 
love  him  any  way ;  he  is  always  so  very  sorrowful  now." 

Even  had  she  wished  to,  Aldeane  could  not  have  re 
sisted  the  innocent  pleader. 

"  Sweet  little  Jessie,  I  love  you  all !"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Tell  mamma,  she  need  not  fear  that  I  shall  hate  your 
papa.  I  love  him  very  much  !" 

"  I  bless  you  for  the  words !"  said  Mrs.  Arendell,  en 
tering  the  room.  "  Pardon  me,  my  love,  for  using  so  little 
ceremony !" 

Aldeane  observed  that  her  face  was  pale,  and  bore 
traces  of  tears. 

"  Dear  aunt,"  she  said,  kissing  her  affectionately,  and 
leading  her  to  a  chair,  "  did  you  think  I  could  ever  for 
get  you?  Indeed,  the  return  of  my  father  has  but 
strengthened  my  love  for  you  !  nothing  can  ever  lessen 
it!" 

"  But,  my  dear,  it  is  so  shameful !  so  very  shameful !" 
murmured  Mrs.  Arendell,  burying  her  face,  like  a  griev 
ing  child,  in  Aldeane's  dress,  and  bursting  into  tears. 

Jessie  looked  on  wonderingly ;  Aldeane  motioned  her 
from  the  room,  and  applied  herself  to  the  task  of  com 
posing  the  agitated  lady. 

"  Dear  aunt,  I  do  mot  blame  Uncle  John  so  very  much," 
she  said.  "  I  believe  he  was  blindly  influenced  by  evil 
counselors.  You  know  we  are  to  have  an  interview  to 
talk  it  all  over,  after  breakfast.  No  doubt  we  shall  dis 
cover  that  he  is  innocent  of  at  least  a  part  laid  to  his 
charge.  I  am  confident  he  would  not  willingly  defraud 
his  brother's  child." 

"  But  he  has  withheld  your  property  for  so  long,  and 


ALDEANE.  365 

kept  you  as  a  governess  in  his  family,  when  he  has  known, 
ever  since  you  have  been  with  us,  that  you  were'his  niece. 
He  recognized  you  immediately ;  he  told  me  so  last 
night.  Yet,  although  he  earnestly  desired  to  give  you 
your  property,  he  had  not  sufficient  moral  courage  to 
suffer  momentary  inconvenience  himself,  by  withdrawing 
it  from  his  speculations,  many  of  which,  no  doubt,  have 
turned  out  to  be  worthless.  Dear  child,  I  had  not  the 
faintest  idea  that  you  were  connected  with  the  family,  or 
you  should  not  have  been  so  wronged." 

"  Let  us  say  no  more  about  it  now,"  returned  Aldeane, 
"probably  we  both  misunderstand  the  matter."  She 
was  exceedingly  surprised  at  the  discovery  that  Colonel 
Arendell  had  recognized,  and  failed  to  own  her  as  his 
niece.  She  turned  away,  that  Mrs.  Arendell  might  not 
read  the  thoughts  that  filled  her  heart,  and  which  were 
legibly  stamped  upon  her  expressive  face. 

The  breakfast  bell  rang;  Mrs.  Arendell  rose  hastily, 
saying,  entreatingly,  "  Dear  Aldeane,  think  and  speak  of 
him  kindly.  He  would  not  have  acted  so  if  I  had  been 
his  wife  in  those  days  of  sorrow  and  temptation." 

"  I  know  it ;  I  know  it !"  replied  Aldeane,  "  there ! 
hurry  away  now !  Aunt  Roxy,  I  expect,  is  already  in 
agony,  lest  her  first  installment  of  waffles  will  cool  before 
they  reach  the  lips  of '  Mass'r  William  and  his  friends.' " 

They  descended  to  the  dining-room  together.  Colonel 
Arendell  was  nervous  and  distrait,  William  Arendell 
almost  jovial,  and  his  friends  entirely  so.-  Eddie  wished 
"  Cousin  Aldeane"  good  morning,  with  every  demonstra 
tion  of  satisfaction,  and  informed  her  that  he  was  going 
that  day  with  Uncle  Adam  to  fetch  Frank  home  to  par 
ticipate  in  the  general  rejoicing. 

Soon  after  breakfast,  Mr.  Ashton,  Mr.  Evans,  and  Ar 
thur  went  to  Loring,  and  Mr.  Arendell,  the  colonel,  and 
Aldeane  to  the  library. 

She  seated  herself  at  the  window  and  the  two  gentle- 


366  ALDEANE. 

men  near  the  center-table.  Silence  for  some  time  pre 
vailed.  Aldeane  toyed  with  the  tassels  of  the  window- 
curtain,  Colonel  Arendell  busied  himself  in  arranging 
numerous  papers,  whose  rattle  alone  broke  the  stillness, 
and  Mr.  Arendell  looked  on,  patiently  waiting  for  his 
brother  to  open  the  conversation.  He  seemed  little  in 
clined  to  do  so,  but  after  the  papers  were  arranged  to  his 
satisfaction,  commenced  piling  up  the  books  that  were 
scattered  around.  Aldeane  watched  his  nervous  move 
ments  for  some  time  with  quiet  amusement ;  her  father, 
she  observed,  did  the  same,  but  at  last  he  remarked : — 

"  John,  we  came  here  to  talk  our  business  affairs  over. 
If  you  have  quite  finished  arranging  those  books,  we  will 
begin,  if  you  please." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  colonel,  sitting  down,  "  I  was 
only  waiting  for  you  to  begin." 

"  And  I  for  you !"  returned  Mr.  Arendell,  laughing ; 
"  but  now  to  business." 

The  gentlemen  were  soon  deeply  engaged  in  an  anima 
ted  discussion ;  carried  on,  however,  in  so  low  a  tone  that 
Aldeane  heard  but  little  of  it.  Half  hidden  in  the  dra 
pery  of  the  window,  she  was  following' the  train  of  her 
own  thoughts,  and  ere  long  became  perfectly  oblivious 
of  the  presence  of  her  father  and  uncle.  She  was  sud 
denly  aroused  by  an  exclamation  from  the  latter. 

"  William,  I  must  explain  this  matter  to  Aldeane ! 
doubtless  she  also  thinks  me  a  villain.  I  can  not  suffer 
that  impression  to  remain,  for  I  was  deluded  and  forced 
into  all  my  errors.  Lucinda  and  Blake  played  a  bold 
game,  only  too  successfully  !" 

Aldeane  emerged  from  the  window  recess,  approached 
the  table,  and  said :  "  Uncle  John,  please  tell  me  all 
about  it.  I  am  anxious  to  hear  all  the  explanations  you 
have  to  offer.  I  am  sure  there  were  some  extenuating 
circumstances." 

Colonel  Arendell  looked  at  her  Q-ratefullv.     Her  father 


ALDEANE.  367 

handed  her  a  chair;  then  resuming  his  seat,  motioned  to 
his  brother  to  proceed ;  and,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
he  began : — 

"  Aldeane,  to  you  I  address  myself,  seeking  to  clear 
your  mind  from  the  suspicions  which  I  know  are  resting 
there  concerning  me.  You  have  already  heard,  that  be 
fore  your  father's  marriage  he  became  deeply  indebted  to 
me.  This  was  chiefly  accomplished  through  the  influence 
of  my  wife,  Lucinda.  Whenever  William  applied  to  me 
for  money,  she  would  advise  me  to  lend  it,  and,  indeed, 
insist  upon  my  doing  so,  but  always  on  the  condition  that 
he  gave  me  good  security.  Thus,  in  time,  nearly  his  whole 
plantation  became  mortgaged  to  me.  After  he  married 
he  became  more  frugal,  and  no  more  applied  to  me  for 
loans.  Every  one  except  Lucinda  loved  his  young  wife. 
She  also  pretended  to  William  and  the  public  that  she 
did  so,  but  in  private  I  have  heard  her  inveigh  against 
her  in  the  bitterest  terms.  She  called  Alice  weak  and 
childish,  and  reiterated  again  and  again  her  displeasure 
that  William  had  thrown  himself  away  upon  such  a  mere 
nonentity.  I  never  could  discover  the  reason  of  her  ani 
mosity,  which  daily  seemed  to  increase,  until  she  hated, 
with  all  the  strength  of  her  nature,  the  inoffensive  and 
lovely  young  wife.' 

"  The  day  before  William  was  arrested,  she  reminded 
me  of  his  indebtedness  to  me.  It  had  never  troubled  me 
before,  for  I  never  looked  into  my  own  affairs,  except  to 
examine  the  books  about  once  a  year.  Blake  managed 
every  thing ;  paid  out  money,  and  received  payments. 
I  had  never  heard  him  speak  of  receiving  any  funds  from 
William,  and  when  my  wife  called  the  matter  to  my 
mind,  and  also  that  he  had  lately  made  large  sums  by 
speculation,  I  felt  much  annoyed,  and  acceded  to  my 
wife's  desire  that  I  would  go  to  Grassmere  the  following 
morning  and  demand  payment. 

"Accordingly,  at  an  early  hour  I  ordered  my  horse  to 


368  ALDEANE. 

ride  away.  I  saw  Blake  standing  near  the  cotton-gin  as 
I  passed.  I  stopped  to  speak  to  him. 

"  '  You  are  going  to  Grassmere,  I  suppose  ?'  he  said. 

"  I  did  not  think  this  a  strange  question,  nor  stop  to 
Avonder  how  he  should  guess  so  accurately,  when  I  went 
to  other  places  a  dozen  times  oftener  than  there  once. 
Of  course,  I  had  started  too  early,  and  he  was  stationed 
there  to  detain  me ;  but  quite  unsuspecting  his  motives, 
I  answered,  '  Yes.' 

"  He  looked  at  his  watch.  '  It  is  still  early,'  he  said. 
'  I  should  be  very  much  obliged  if  you  would  come  in 
and  look  at  the  cotton  that  was  packed  by  that  new  ma 
chine  last  fall.  You  have  not  seen  it.  I  should  like  your 
opinion  as  to  whether  we  shall  employ  the  same  process 
this  year.' 

"  I  was  surprised  at  this  request,  for  he  seldom  consulted 
me  on  any  matter.  Nearly  all  the  cotton  had  been  sent 
away,  and  I  thought  if  he  wished  to  hear  my  opinion  he 
should  have  asked  for  it  before.  However  I  said  nothing 
of  that,  but  replied  :  '  Some  other  time  I  will  look  to  it, 
I  am  in  a  hurry  now.' 

"  He  looked  disappointed.  '  As  like  as  not  I  shall  not 
be  able  to  see  you  again  until  all  the  cotton  is  sent  off,' 
he  answered. 

"  I  was,  in  reality,  in  no  great  haste,  so  I  dismounted 
and  entered  the  gin.  Blake  detained  me  on  various  pre 
texts  for  over  an  hour.  As  I  was  about  to  mount  my 
horse,  I  said : 

"  '  I  suppose  that  William  has  not  made  you  any  pay 
ments  on  those  debts,  Blake  ?' 

"  He  did  not  answer  immediately,  and  I  repeated  my 
question,  turning  to  look  at  him.  He  was  very  pale,  and 
seemed  struggling  for  breath. 

•  " '  What  is  the  matter  ?'  I  exclaimed.  '  You  were  at 
Croyden's  last  night,  and  staid  too  late  I  suspect.  Dissi 
pation  does  not  agree  with  you  !' 


ALDEANE.  369 

"'That  is  true,'  lie  replied.  And  I  rode  off  without 
awaiting  an  answer  to  my  question. 

"  On  my  arrival  at  Grassmere  I  found  every  thing  in 
the  greatest  confusion.  William  under  arrest,  his  wife 
insensible,  and  the  servants  half-crazed  with  fright. 

"  During  my  ride  thither,  I  had  been  pondering  on  the 
matter,  and  could  not  but  think  it  strange  that  William 
had  not  hastened  to  discharge  his  liabilities  the  moment 
he  was  in  a  position  to  do  so.  My  wife's  subtle  warnings 
and  insinuations  still  rang  in  my  ears,  and  by  the  time  I 
reached  Grassmere  my  annoyance  had  deepened  into  a 
passion  which  became  frenzy  when  I  discovered  the  state 
of  affairs  which  existed  there. 

"  I  need  not  speak  of  what  followed.  You  know  it  all. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  during  the  interview  that  I  had  with 
William,  mutual  recriminations  took  the  place  of  sober 
inquiry,  and  I  failed  to  discover  that  he  had  paid  the 
greater  part  of  what  I  fancied  he  was  indebted  to  me.  I 
left  him  in  anger,  never  for  a  moment  supposing  but  that 
he  was  guilty  of  the  crime  of  which  he  was  accused,  for 
indeed  appearances  were  entirely  against  him. 

"  You  know  how  he  was  tried  and  found  guilty.  Many, 
many  times  my  anger  was  dying  away  in  pity  for  him, 
when  it  would  be  revived  by  some  new  insinuation  from 
Lucinda  or  Richard  Blake. 

"  The  day  had  arrived  when  the  first  part  of  the  sentence 
was  to  be  performed.  I  stayed  at  home,  almost  believing 
that  I  heard  the  sound  of  the  lash  that  was  to  brand  my 
own  brother  forever  with  infamy,  and  with  a  stain  that 
would  taint  the  entire  family.  Blake  had  gone  to  Loring. 
My  wife  seemed  in  a  most  amiable  mood,  and  spoke  of 
urging  Alice  to  make  her  home  with  us,  although 
William  had  decidedly  opposed  it.  I  was  surprised,  and 
asked  her  what  had  induced  her  to  change  her  opinion 
concerning  Alice. 

"  She  replied  :  '  Her  condition  demands  our  sympathy, 

16* 


370  ALDEANE. 

and  her  conduct  during  the  trial  shows  her  to  be  worthy 
of  it.' 

"  Just  as  she  completed  this  answer,  Blake  rushed 
bi-eathlessly  into  the  room,  exclaiming : — 

" '  He  has  escaped !  he  has  escaped  !' 

"  I  was  delighted.  As  pale  as  death  my  -wife  rose  from 
her  seat. 

" '  Escaped  !  did  you  say  ?'  she  demanded  hoarsely. 
'  Where  is  the  sheriff?  Why  are  they  not  pursuing  him  ? 
My  God  !  do  they  intend  that  he  shall  go  free  ?' 

" '  They  are  preparing  to  follow  him  now,'  answered 
Blake,  -while  I  regarded  her  with  the  most  intense  aston 
ishment.  I  had  supposed  that  she  would  rejoice  with  me 
over  his  escape.  I  now  saw  her  beside  herself  with 
disappointed  revenge  and  hate.  I  reproved  her,  angrily. 

"  She  replied  in  the  most  bitter  terms,  declaring  that  she 
cared  nothing  for  me ;  that  she  had  married  me  merely  for 
convenience ;  that  she  had  loved  William  until  he  rejected 
all  her  overtures.  Then  her  affection  turned  to  hatred, 
which  burned  more  fiercely  than  her  love  had  ever  done. 
That  she  had  sworn  to  be  avenged,  and  had  for  years 
been  plotting  his  ruin. 

"  I  was  astounded,  and  demanded  whether  she  had  had 
any  thing  to  do  with  the  robbery  for  which  he  was  con 
demned. 

"  Blake  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm,  and  said,  soothingly : 
'  Pray  compose  yourself,  Lucinda.' 

"  His  words  seemed  to  recall  her  to  her  senses,  and  to 
the  importance  of  the  question  I  had  propounded,  and 
she  answered  steadily  : — 

"'No,  I  knew  nothing  of  it  until  he  was  arrested.' 

"I  believed  her  words.  I  could  not  think  my  wife, 
whom  I  had  blindly  loved,  to  be  so  utterly  depraved  as 
she  really  was,  but  from  that  moment  I  lost  all  affection 
for  her.  I  blushed  for  my  name  when  I  reflected  that  she 
bore  it,  more  deeply  than  I  did  when  I  believed  that 


ALDEANE.  371 

William  had  disgraced  it.  Without  another  word  I  left 
her,  still  foaming  with  rage,  and  went  to  Loring.  There 
I  found  the  sheriif  and  constables  endeavoring  to  form  a 
company  to  go  in  search  of  the  fugitive.  They  could  get 
but  few  volunteers,  as  William  had  always  been  a  favorite. 
I  called  the  sheriff  aside,  and  found  him  not  sufficiently 
lirm,  to  resist  my  solicitations  and  a  handsome  bribe  to 
let  him  escape.  He  led  a  few  men  into  the  neighboring 
woods,  but  they  returned  at  night  without  the  prisoner, 
and  the  search  was  never  renewed. 

"I  believe  every  one  except  Lucinda  rejoiced  at  his 
escape.  A  few  days  afterward,  Aldeane,  you  were  born, 
and  a  few  hours  later  your  mother  died.  Mrs.  Guthrie  was 
there,  and  declared  her  intention  of  adopting  the  little 
orphan.  To  this  Lucinda  decidedly  objected,  but  I  favored 
the  plan,  as  I  knew  William's  child  would  receive  but 
indifferent  if  not  positively  cruel  usage  if  it  fell  into  her 
hands.  I  was  constituted  adminstrator  of  the  property, 
and  when  I  had  paid  the  few  outstanding  debts,  and 
those  which  I  supposed  were  due  to  myself,  there  was  but 
a  very  small  portion  remaining  to  the  child.  This 
I  proposed  should  be  given  to  Mrs.  Guthrie' s  care  for  the 
xise  of  the  infant,  but  she  replied  indignantly  that  the  child 
of  Alice  Deane  should  never  touch  one  cent  of  the  money 
or  even  bear  the  name  of  Arendell.  She  repeatedly 
declared  that  Alice  had  told  her  that  William  had  paid 
nearly  all  his  debts.  Blake  swore  to  the  contrary,  and  as 
no  receipts  could  be  produced,  I  of  course  believed  him. 
Mrs.  Guthrie  took  the  child  and  departed  in  anger,  leav 
ing  her  little  property  with  me.  I  portioned  off  what  1 
mpposed  belonged  to  her,  hoping  that  she  would  at. 

me  time  return  and  claim  it. 

''  No  unity  of  feeling  after  those  events  ever  existed 
between  my  wife  and  me.  I  well  knew  that  she  had 
never  even  respected  me,  while  captivated  by  her  beauty 
I  had  adored  her.  I  feared  that  ere  long  I  should  hate 


372  ALDEANE. 

her.  This  feeling  was  increased  by  her  treatment  of 
Junius.  I  at  one  time  scut  him  to  Grassmere,  but  she 
had  him  brought  back  the  next  day.  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  to  brave  her  anger,  and  send  him  North,  when  to 
my  joy  he  ran  away.  I  could  not  prevent  his  being 
advertised,  for  Blake  and  Lucinda  went  to  R on  pur 
pose  to  do  it,  but  I  could  and  did  prevent  any  search 
being  made  for  him. 

"A  few  months  after  the  escape  of  Junius,  Leonore 
was  born.  I  so  much  feared  that  the  child  would 
resemble  her  mother  that  I  could  scarcely  look  upon  her, 
but  when  Lucinda  died  leaving  the  innocent  little  crea 
ture  entirely  to  my  care,  I  found  her  all  my  fondest 
desires  could  paint.  I  took  her  to  my  heart,  and  she 
became  indeed,  a  part  of  my  life,  that  life  that  went 
from  me  when  I  saw  her  laid  in  her  early  grave  !" 

Colonel  Arendell  paused  for  a  moment,  overcome  by 
emotion.  Aldeane's  tears  fell  fast,  and  her  father  thought 
of  his  slave-born  child  whose  revenge  had  been  so  ter 
rible:  coming  as  it  did,  even  after  his  own  death, 
drawing  its  victim  down  to  the  grave  at  his  side. 

Colonel  Arendell  strove  again  to  speak,  but  memories 
of  Leonore  filled  his  heart,  and  prevented  utterance. 
After  waiting  a  few  moments,  Mr.  Arendell  took  his 
brother's  hand  and  said : — 

"  John,  I  sincerely  pity  you.  I  remember  my  own 
agony,  when  I  lost  my  good  name,  my  wife,  children,  and 
wealth,  and  can  well  conceive  what  your  feelings  must 
have  been  when  your  daughter  died.  This  subject  is 
very  painful  to  you.  Let  us  speak  no  more  of  it.  Try 
now  to  tell  me  how  you  discovered  the  plot,  in  which 
you  had  been  unconsciously  made  a  prominent  actor." 

It  was  some  time  before  Colonel  Arendell  regained  his 
self-control,  but  he  said  at  last : — 

"I  must  again  go  back  to  the  period  of  Lucinda's 
death,  an  event  of  which  I  can  never  speak  without  a 


ALDEANE.  373 

shudder.  For  some  time  she  had  been  in  ill  health,  and  in 
the  early  part  of  the  winter  she  took  a  violent  cold,  which 
settled  upon  her  lungs,  producing  hemorrhage  of  a  most 
alarming  character.  It  was  arrested,  but  it  was  plain 
that  it  might  return  again  'and  produce  instant  death. 
No  one  dared  to  tell  her  of  it,  afid  for  weeks  she  lingered 
on,  deluding  herself  by  false  hope^rof  recovery.  Gradu 
ally,  but  surely,  the  knowledge ^of  her  danger  entered 
her  mind.  She  endeavored  to^teel  her  heart  against  it, 
but  in  spite  of  her  indomitaMe  ,will  she  felt  that  it  was 
true,  and  acknowledged  to  "bfeelf  that  her  death  was  at 
hand. 

"  Had  she  not  learned^K  gradually,  the  shock  might 
have  killed  her.  As  it  jtfas  it  threw  her  into  the  most 
horrible  paroxysms  of  uespair. 

" '  I  will  not ;  can  not  die  !'  she  would  exclaim,  and 
then  for  hours  remain  in  gloomy  silence,  then  in  a  shrill 
voice,  almost  a  shriek,  she  would  repeat,  '  I  can  not,  will 
not  die !' 

"  But  she  could  not  wrestle  with  her  destiny.  She  was 
dying.  In  the  awfulness  of  despair  she  felt  it.  In  my 
feebleness  I  tried  to  point  her  to  God,  but  a  belief  in 
one,  which  had  never  dwelt  in  her  heart,  could  not  at 
that  late  moment  be  planted  there.  Still  unbelieving 
she  went  down  into  the  darkness  of  that  tomb,  which 
she  fancied  would  hide  her  forever  from  life  or  judg 
ment. 

"  The  night  before  she  died  I  was  alone  with  her,  en 
deavoring  to  throw  some  light  upon  her  dark  soul,  for  to 
see  her  die  without  any  belief  in  God,  or  heaven,  was  to 
me  the  most  intolerable  agony. 

" '  There  is  a  day  of  judgment,'  I  said  at  last,  '  when, 
with  all  that  have  ever  lived,  we  shall  stand  before  the 
throne  of  God  to  hear  our  doom  !' 

"  '  I  do  not ;  I  will  not  believe  it !'  she  cried,  covering 
her  eves  with  her  wasted  hands,  as  if  to  shut  out  some 


37±  ALDEANE. 

horrible  spectacle.  '  Shall  I  see  William  there,  crying  for 
vengeance  ?  and  Alice  in  her  shroud  to  upbraid  me '? 
No !  no  !  when  our  bodies  are  laid  in  the  grave,  they 
will  crumble  to  dust !  No  spirit  will  ever  reanimate 
them !' 

"  Her  words  confirmed  my  previous  suspicions.  *  You 
had,  then,  something  to  do  with  William's  ruin  ?'  I  cried, 
*  You  wronged  him  foully.'  I  took  hold  of  her  arm  in 
my  earnestness.  '  Tell  me  what  you  have  done — you  are 
a  dying  woman — tell  me  before  you  die,  how  far  you 
sinned,  and  how  far  he  was  guilty !' 

"  For  even  then  I  had  no  idea  but  that  William  had 
committed  the  crime,  and  supposed  that  some  deep  plot 
had  been  laid  to  tempt  him  to  do  it. 

" '  What  do  you  mean  ?'  she  inquired,  looking  at  me 
with  the  savage  glare  of  a  tiger  at  bay.  *  Do  you  believe 
that  I  ruined  him  ?' 

"'Yes,  I  do.'  I  replied  firmly.  'You  will  soon  be 
out  of  the  reach  of  human  laws  and  human  judgment. 
Tell  me,  I  entreat,  I  command  you,  all  that  you  know  of 
this  horrible  affair.' 

"She  looked  at  me  fiercely  a  moment,  then  sank  back 
upon  the  pillows,  and  remained  Avith  her  eyes  closed  as 
if  striving  with  thoughts  of  the  most  bitter  descrip 
tion.  At  last  she  asked  me  to  lift  her  higher  upon  the 
pillows,  and  to  give  her  a  little  wine.  I  did  so,  and  she 
told  me  all.  Yes,  to  my  horror  and  mortification,  not 
only  that  William  was  perfectly  innocent  of  the  crime, 
of  which  he  was  believed  guilty,  but  also  that  he  had 
paid  into  Blake's  hands  nearly  the  whole  of  what  he  had 
been  indebted  to  me,  and  that  the  property  of  which  I 
had  taken  possession  as  my  right,  in  reality  belonged  to 
my  brother's  child,  who  had  been  thus  defrauded  of  her 
fortune.  Davis  and  she  had  concocted  the  plot,  and 
Blake,  who  well  knew  every  nook  and  corner  of  Grass- 
mere,  had  been  hired  to  place  the  money  in  a  secret 


ALDEANE.  375 

place,  and  to  keep  silence  concerning  the  payments  that 
had  been  made  to  him. 

"She  gave  me  all,  except  what  she  had  given  to  Blake, 
of  the  sums  which  William  had  from  time  to  time  paid  in, 
but  during  the  whole  interview  she  expressed  not  one 
word  of  repentance.  Her  approaching  death  seemed  to 
fill  her  mind  with  terror,  unaccompanied  by  any  other 
feeling,  and  as  she  went  down  to  the  grave,  her  last 
words,  breathed  out  with  a  despairing  shriek,  were : — 

" '  It  is  all  dark  !     There  is  darkness  here  forever !' " 

Aldeane's  face  was  blanched  with  horror.  Colonel 
Arendell  seemed  overpowered  by  those  painful  recollec 
tions.  He  arose  and  walked  slowly  up  and  down  the 
room,  but  returning  at  last  to  his  seat  near  the  table, 
continued  : — 

"  I  have  said  much  that  is  here  unnecessary.  I  have 
not  spoken  of  this  subject  before  for  years,  and  it  is  hard 
to  deny  myself  utterance  now,  but  I  will  pass  on  to  the 
question  you  asked  me  some  time  since.  '  How  I  recog 
nized  Aldeane.'  For  some  time  after  my  wife's  death, 
my  one  engrossing  thought  was  to  find  William's  child 
and  to  restore  her  property.  I  wrote  immediately  to  Mrs. 
Guthrie,  but  after  waiting  some  weeks,  and  receiving  no 
response,  I  determined  to  endeavor  to  obtain  an  inter 
view.  I  accordingly  went  to County,  and  to  my 

sorrow  and  surprise,  learned  that  she  had  gone  to  the 
North,  had  married  there,  and  for  a  long  time  had  not 
been  heard  from.  I  could  only  hear  that  she  had  gone 
with  the  intention  of  settling  in  the  State  of  New  York, 
and  that  it  was  probable  she  had  avoided  all  intercourse 
with  her  family,  in  order  that  she  might  bring  up  her 
adopted  child  so  entirely  separated  from  her  friends,  that 
not  even  the  slightest  hint  which  might  lead  her  to  sup 
pose  she  was  not  her  own  daughter,  might  reach  her. 

"  This  I  took  to  be  a  reasonable  view  of  the  case.     I 


376  ALDEANE. 

caused  the  missing  ones  to  be  advertised  throughout  the 
North,  but  without  any  result ;  and  at  last  I  determined 
to  go  myself  in  search  of  them.  I  went,  but  not  a  trace 
of  them  could  I  find.  Happily,  however,  I  became  ac 
quainted  with  my  present  wife,  and  when  I  returned,  she 
was  with  me  to  gladden  my  home. 

"  After  some  years,  we  needed  a  governess  for  our  chil 
dren.  One  was  advertised  for,  and  Aldeane  came,  some 
thing  in  her  voice  and  face  seemed  natural  to  me,  but  I 
had  not  at  first  the  slightest  idea  that  she  was  my  bro 
ther's  child.  I  discovered  it  on  our  return  from  church 
the  first  Sunday  she  was  with  us.  My  first  impulse  was 
to  own  her  as  my  niece  and  restore  her  property  imme 
diately,  but  a  moment's  consideration  deterred  me.  I 
had  been  speciilating  largely ;  much  of  the  property  was 
invested  in  sugar  plantations  in  Louisiana,  and  I  could 
not  withdraw  it  without  seriously  embarrassing  myself. 
I  discovered  that  she  was  perfectly  ignorant  of  her  true 
position  in  life ;  I  determined,  unless  in  the  event  of  my 
death,  not  to  make  her  acquainted  with  it  for  a  few  years 
at  least,  I  argued,  that  as  I  should  take  care  of  her,  and 
satisfy  every  want,  the  withholding  of  her  property  for 
a  time,  would  do  her  no  harm,  and  be  of  the  greatest 
benefit  to  me;  besides,  my  wife  knew  nothing  of  what 
had  taken  place,  and  I  was  anxious  that  she  should  not 
until  I  could  make  restoration  without  injury  or  incon 
venience  to  myself,  and  consequently  to  her." 

William  Arendell's  brow  darkened. 

"  There  is  your  error,"  he  said.  "  It  darkens  all  your 
previous  actions.  The  fact  that  you  did  not  immediately 
own  my  daughter  when  you  recognized  her,  would  lead 
one  to  suppose  that  your  motives  in  the  past  were  not  al 
together  pure !" 

Colonel  Arendell  quailed  beneath  the  implied  distrust. 

"  Oh,  father,  uncle  is  excusable,"  cried  Aldeane.  "  He 
could  not  have  given  up  my  property  immediately  with- 


ALDEANE.  377 

out  disclosing  every  thing,  his  wife's  perfidy  and  all,  to 
the  eyes  of  the  world,  and  that,  I  am  sure,  would  have 
been  a  terrible  trial !" 

"  He  was  wrong,"  replied  Mr.  Arendell,  decidedly,  "  he 
might  at  least  have  recognized  you  as  his  niece,  and  pri 
vately  and  gradually  restored  your  property.  But  to 
keep  you  in  his  house  as  a  hireling,  when  half  the  money 
he  used  was  yours,  was  a  most  shameful  proceeding ! 
Such  conduct  can  not  be  explained  away  !"  He  spoke 
warmly,  bringing  his  hand  heavily  down  upon  the  table. 

Aldeane  felt  that  his  words  were  true,  yet,  with  all  his 
faults  she  loved  her  uncle,  and  wished  above  all  things 
that  her  father  might  become  perfectly  reconciled  to  him. 
She  remained  silent,  not  wishing  by  word  or  deed  to 
widen  the  breach  between  them. 

Colonel  Arendell  spoke  first.  "  I  know  this  matter 
can  not  be  explained  away,"  he  said,  humbly.  "  Through 
all  my  life  I  have  lacked  force  of  character,  or  moral 
courage.  I  did  not  know  Aldeane  then,  as  I  do  now,  or 
I  believe  I  should  have  summoned  resolution  enough  to 
have  told  her  all;  afterward  many  things  deterred  me 
from  doing  so." 

William  Arendell  did  not  answer,  but  looked  angrily 
and  gloomily  at  his  brother. 

Aldeane  said,  soothingly  :  "  Let  ua  say  no  more  about 
it.  I  have  been  treated  as  a  relative  if  never  acknowl 
edged  as  such.  I  never  felt  myself  to  be  a  hireling  in 
this  house !" 

"  Perhaps  not,"  replied  her  father,  "  but  you  was  con- 
sidei*ed  such  by  strangers.  John,  how  would  you  have 
felt  if  your  daughter  had  suffered  such  humiliation  ?" 

"  Do  not  speak  of  my  daughter,"  pleaded  the  colonel, 
in  a  trembling  voice.  "  God  knows  her  humiliation  was 
greater,  and  I  have  suffered  enough  for  her !" 

"  That  is  true,"  replied  Mr.  Arendell,  compassionately, 
"  and  1  will  not  forget  that  my  son  was  the  cause  of  at 


37S  ALDEANE. 

least  a  part  of  your  sorrow.  This  matter  shall  be  men 
tioned  no  more  between  \is.  If  Aldeane  bears  no  ani 
mosity  I  am  sure  I  have  no  wisli  to  do  so." 

"  Indeed  I  bear  none,"  said  Aldeane,  earnestly.  "  31  y 
dearest  wish  is  to  see  you  inseparable  friends,  sueh  as 
brothers  should  always  be.  I  pity  my  uncle,  and  can 
not  harbor  ill  feelings  toward  him." 

The  colonel  regarded  her  gratefully.  She  leaned  for 
ward,  and  sealed  her  forgiveness  with  a  kiss.  "  Be 
friends,"  she  said,  "  firm  friends,  that  in  heart  at  least, 
can  never  again  be  separated  !" 

William  Arendell  extended  his  hand  across  the  table  ; 
it  was  caught  eagerly  by  the  colonel,  and  Aldeane  beheld 
with  joy  the  true  reconciliation  of  the  long-estranged 
brothers. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

FATHER   AXD    DAUGHTER   AT   HO3IE. 

thus,  as  a  peacemaker,  the  life  of  Aldeane  Aren- 
dell  began,  and  her  sojourn  at  Arendell  House  ended,  for 
on  the  following  morning,  accompanied  by  his  brother's 
family,  Arthur,  Mr.  Ashton,  and  Charles  Evans,  William 
Arendell  went  to  Grassmere,  the  home  from  which  he 
had  fled  more  than  twenty  .years  before. 

Of  his  thoughts,  as  they  passed  over  the  well-remem 
bered  road,  wrhat  can  be  said  ?  Ah,  nothing  !  nothing  ! 
though  each  heart  can  fancy  them.  Shame,  grief,  and  tri 
umph,  all  were  there.  Shame  for  a  life  which  had  not 
been  without  its  stains ;  shame  of  the  calumny  which  had 
blighted  him;  grief  for  that  fair  young  creature  that 
calumny  had  laid  in  an  early  grave,  and  triumph  over  that 
calumny  refuted — that  shame  cast  back  upon  its  author. 
And  there  was  pity  too,  pity  for  the  suicide,  and  deeper 
still  for  him  who  had  gone  forth  from  the  court-house  a 
free  man,  but  bowed  down  by  a  weight  of  infamy  more 
terrible  than  a  felon's  heaviest  chains. 

He  sat  in  the  carriage,  silent  and  motionless,  seeming 
to  see  nothing  but  his  daughter,  who  rode  on  horseback, 
beside  the  carriage,  and  from  whom  he  could  not  for  a 
moment  remove  his  gaze.  Frank,  who  had  been  sum 
moned  from  school,  and  who  had  greeted  Aldeane  as  his 
cousin  with  an  outburst  of  joy,  rode  beside  her,  looking 
at  her  curiously  from  time  to  time,  as  if  she  had  indescri 
bably  changed  since  he  saw  her  last,  as  she  undoubtedly 


880  ALDEANE. 

had  in  some  points,  which  would  not  have  been  likely  to 
claim  the  attention  of  her  young  admirer. 

Aldeane  had  not  been  upon  this  road  since  she  had 
accompanied  George  Raymond  and  Leonore  to  Grass- 
mere.  She  thought  how  gayly  they  had  sped  over  it  with 
no  thought  of  trouble  or  sorrow. 

Frank,  too,  was  thinking  of  it,  for  he  rode  close  to 
Aldeane's  side,  and  said  in  a  low  voice : — 

"  I  know  of  what  and  of  whom  you  are  thinking.  How 
little  we  thought  that  the  merriest  of  the  party  would 
both,  in  little  more  than  a  year,  be  lying  together  in  Lor- 
ing  graveyard  !  And  how  little  any  of  us  thought  that 
both  were  so  nearly  related  to  you !" 

"  Great  changes  have  indeed  taken  place  since  then," 
she  answered,  musingly,  "  in  all  save  Grassmere !  That 
remains  the  same  as  ever.  Even  the  old  trumpet-vine 
arbor  seems  in  the  same  state  of  decay ;  no  nearer  its  final 
dissolution  than  before." 

They  were  approaching  Grassmere,  and  she  had  ridden 
up  quite  close  to  the  carriage.  Her  father  heard  her  last 
words,  and  leaning  out  of  the  carriage,  gazed  earnestly 
upon  the  place  where  he  was  born,  where  he  had  lived 
for  years,  from  which  he  had  been  driven  forth  in  dis 
grace,  and  to  which  his  heart  had  ever  turned  with  deep 
est  yearning  during  the  dreary  days  of  his  exile. 

"  What !"  he  said,  "  then  the  old  arbor  is  standing  yet  ? 
Yes,  and  the  lattice  over  which  Alice  trained  clematis 
and  roses  still  is  there,  but  she  is  gone !" 

He  was  overcome  by  painful  recollections,  and  leaning 
back  in  the  carriage,  said  no  more  until  they  stopped  at 
the  gate. 

The  negroes,  with  Aunt  Samira  and  Uncle  Jack  at 
their  head,  were  drawn  up  in  gala  array  to  receive  them. 
It  reminded  Aldeane  sti'ongly  of  the  first  time  she  went 
there.  But  little  then  did  they  know  that  they  were  wel- 
eoining  back  the  daughter  of  their  rightful  master  to  her 


ALDEANE.  381 

birthplace ;  but  they  knew  it  now,  and  a  shout  rent  the 
air  as  Mr.  Arendell  descended  from  the  carriage,  and 
trembling  with  emotion,  led  Aldeane  into  the  midst  of 
the  servants  to  receive  with  him  their  noisy  welcome. 

"  Bress  de  Lord !  Mass'r  William,  I  jes'  knowed  you'd 
come  back  !"  said  Aunt  Samira,  fervently,  "  but  'twas  too 
late  for  de  poor  boy,  mass'r !  too  late  for  de  poor  boy !" 
and  bursting  into  teai*s,  she  threw  her  apron  over  her 
head,  and  rushed  into  the  kitchen. 

Mr.  Arendell  seemed  much  disconcerted.  "  You  do 
not  utterly  despise  me,"  he  queried  of  Aldeane,  in  a  low 
voice,  "  when  I  tell  you  that  I  can  not  even  now  think  of 
that  child  without  the  deepest  emotion  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Aldeane.  "  I  loved  him  as  a  brother, 
and  listened  to  his  tale  with  all  a  sister's  tenderness. 
Little  did  we  think  that  the  father  of  whom  he  spoke  so 
lovingly  was  mine  also  !" 

Mr.  Arendell  scarcely  heeded  her  last  words,  so  en 
grossed  was  he  in  returning  the  greetings  and  replying 
to  the  congratulations  of  his  servants.  Many  remained 
that  had  served  him  personally ;  and  their  children,  who 
imtil  within  a  few  hours  had  not  known  that  such  a  man 
as  William  Arendell  ever  existed,  were  as  enthusiastic  as 
any  in  welcoming  him  back.  They  were  all  gathered 
.upon  the  front  lawn,  and  the  family  watched  with  great 
amusement  their  many  antics.  One  little  fellow  seemed 
striving  to  out-do  all  the  others.  He  would  throw  him 
self  on  the  ground,  and  roll  over  and  over  on  the  soft 
grass,  laughing  the  real  "  yhe-ho  !"  of  a  plantation  negro 
at  every  turn,  and  the  next  he  would  be  climbing  like  a 
monkey  the  highest  branches  of  a  tree,  in  order  to  excite 
the  admiration  of  his  master  and  mistress,  and  the  envy 
of  his  sooty  companions  by  his  feats  of  agility. 

Mr.  Arendell,  accompanied  only  by  Aldeane,  entered 
the  hoxise,  and  passed  slowly  through  the  well-remem 
bered  rooms. 


382  ALDEANE. 

"  Ah  !"  lie  said,  when  they  reached  the  library,  "  how 
many  happy  days  I  have  spent  in  this  room !  Even  in 
my  bachelor  days,  when  at  home,  it  was  my  favorite 
resort ;  and  after  I  was  married,  Alice  generally  used  to 
sit  in  that  window,  with  her  basket  of  sewing  or  a  favor 
ite  book,  and  I  loved  it  for  her  sake,  for  where  she  was, 
was  heaven  to  me.  I  think  I  see  her  now,  sitting  there 
in  her  little  rocking-chair,  with  her  golden  curls  sweeping 
back  from  her  fair  young  face  to  the  gently  swaying  mo 
tion  of  the  rockers,  her  fingers  busily  engaged  with  some 
piece  of  delicate  work,  while  she  listened  to  some  inter 
esting  book,  read  by  the  child  at  her  feet.  Though  he 
was  a  slave,  she  admired  his  beauty  and  his  strong  intel 
lect  as  much  as  if  he  had  been  of  noble  birth.  How  often, 
with  unalloyed  happiness,  I  looked  upon  them  when  thus 
engaged !  Ah !  how  I  loved  them  both  !" 

Mr.  Arendell  sat  down,  covering  his  face  with  his 
hands,  as  if  he  would  fain  call  up  again  the  beautiful 
vision;  but  he  was  unsuccessful.  Scenes  of  troublous 
times  glanced  athwart  his  mind,  and,  with  a  sigh,  he 
arose,  and  walked  into  the  inner  apartment. 

Aldeane  remembered  that  many  sorrowful  recollections 
must  be  connected  with  that  also,  so  she  refrained  from 
following  him,  but  sat  down  near  one  of  the  windows 
to  await  his  return.  Glancing  at  the  book-shelves,  she 
saw  the  plantation  record  which  George  Raymond  had 
opened,  and  from  which  he  had  read  the  record  of  his 
own  birth  and  that  of  his  cousin  and  playmate,  Abel. 
She  remembered  his  strange  questions,  and  the  agitation 
of  Aunt  Samira,  and  wondered  that  she  had  not  then 
suspected  that  he  knew  more  of  Grassmere  than  he  was 
willing  to  acknowledge. 

Mrs.  Arendell  entered  the  library. 

"  I  see  your  father  is  in  his  old  room,"  she  said,  "  so  I 
thought  I  should  find  you  hei-e.  Come  up-stairs  with  me, 
I  want  to  show  you  your  own  chamber.  I  have  had  it 


ALDEANE.  383 

fitted  up  as  well  as  it  could  be  possibly  done  with  such 
old  furniture." 

Aldeane  arose  and  followed  her.  The  room  was  large 
and  airy.  The  long  windows  were  curtained  with  lace 
dingy  and  yelloAV  from  age.  The  furniture  was  very  old- 
fashioned  and  tarnished,  though  rich  and  heavy,  and  the 
faded  blue  curtains  of  the  bed  gave  a  melancholy  hue  to 
the  whole.  Aldeane  thought  of  her  pleasant  room  at 
Arendell  House  with  a  sigh.  Mrs.  Arendell  noticed  it. 

"  This,"  said  she,  drawing  a  small  cushioned  chair  from 
the  window  recess,  "  was  your  mother's.  Those  draw 
ings  on  the  walls  were  executed  by  her ;  and  though  so 
faded,  exhibit  considerable  talent.  I  had  them  placed 
here  because  I  thought  you  would  be  pleased  to  see  that 
that  they  have  been  so  well  preserved." 

Aldeane  looked  at  them  with  new  interest.  One  of 
the  pictures  was  a  representation  of  the  Virgin,  a  com 
mon  subject,  but  the  look  of  calm  suffering  and  resigna 
tion  on  this,  gave  it  a  strange  beauty.  Aldeane  thought 
of  her  mother,  and  that  she  also,  in  the  days  of  her  tribu 
lation,  might  have  worn  that  angelic  expression. 

"  All  this  furniture  is  ancient,"  observed  Mrs.  Aren 
dell.  "  A  great  deal  of  it,  John  says,  was  in  the  house 
when  he  was  a  child.  It  is  too  old  and  dingy,  I  know, 
to  suit  you,  and  I  will  send  some  for  your  use  from  our 
house." 

"  Pray,  don't  put  yourself  to  that  trouble,"  returned 
Aldeane.  "  It  is  not  probable  that  we  shall  remain  here 
long.  Indeed,  but  for  the  sake  of  '  auld  lang  syne ' 
father  would  not  stay  here  at  all.  This  old  furniture  has 
a  charm  for  me.  I  shall  not  weary  of  it  for  the  short 
time  I  am  here." 

"  What  shall  we  do  when  you  have  left  us  entirely  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Arendell,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Get  another  governess  for  the  children,"  replied 
Aldeane,  laughing. 


384  ALDEANE. 

"  Ah !  but  that  will  not  answer  the  purpose,"  Mrs. 
Arendell  said,  shaking  her  head  sadly.  "  The  loss  to  me 
will  be  greater  than  to  the  children.  They  will  be  sent 
to  the  best  schools  the  State  affords,  and  will  probably 
receive  as  good  instruction  as  you  can  give.  But  where 
shall  I  find  another  such  friend  ?" 

"  Although  I  can  not  remain  with  you,  I  shall  always 
be  your  friend,"  returned  Aldeane,  warmly.  "  But  there 
is  the  dinnei--bell."  Then  glancing  at  her  watch,  "Let 
us  go  down.  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late." 

The  gentlemen  were  waiting  on  the  piazza  upon  which 
the  dining-room  opened.  Mr.  Arendell  took  Aldeane's 
hand,  and  led  her  into  the  apartment,  and  to  the  head  of 
the  table. 

"  Your  mother  occupied  this  place  the  last  time  I  ate 
in  this  house,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone.  "  Strive  to  do  the 
honors  as  gracefully  as  she  used  to,  and  no  more  can  be 
desired." 

Aldeane  blushingly  took  the  seat,  and  fulfilled  her  du 
ties,  as  she  did  in  every  position,  with  the  modest  ease 
and  grace  that  always  distinguished  her. 

Aunt  Samira  had  not  forgotten  the  honors  due  from 
the  culinary  department.  An  excellent  dinner  was  served 
in  the  best  style,  at  which  all  did  ample  justice.  It  was 
a  warm,  close  day,  and  after  dinner  all  sought  some  cool 
spot  in  which  to  spend  an  hour  in  rest  and  quietness. 
Mr.  Arendell  went  to  the  trumpet-arbor,  and  Arthur  and 
Aldeane  to  the  library. 

"I  wonder  where  uncle  and  aunt,  and  all  the  others, 
are  ?"  said  the  latter. 

"  The  gentlemen,  I  believe,  are  gone  out  on  the  lawn 
to  have  a  quiet  smoke  under  the  great  trees,"  returned 
Arthur.  "  Colonel  Arendell,  you  know,  is  an  inveterate 
smoker,  and  Mr.  Ashton  is  not  far  behind  him." 

"  Oh,  dear !  I  shall  be  very  glad  when  the  sun  sets  ;  it 
is  almost  as  warm  as  in  August  to-day,"  said  Aldeane, 


ALDEANE.  385 

pushing  back  the  hair  from  her  brow,  and  plying  a  large 
palm-leaf  fan ;  while  Arthur,  as  he  said,  prepared  to  try 
the  cooling  effects  of  a  cigar. 

"  I  have  left  my  guests  to  entertain  themselves,"  said 
Aldeane,  "  but  I  presume  they  will  enjoy  a  siesta  much 
more  than  my  company,  so  I'll  devote  a  few  minutes  to 
you.  It  is  the  first  opportunity  I  have  had  of  doing  so 
since  your  arrival.  So  you  are  really  going  on  Mon 
day?" 

"  Happily,  yes,"  he  returned.  "  I  am  heartily  glad  of 
it.  You  know  I  have  been  away  from  home  more  than 
a  month !" 

Aldeane  laughed.  "  You  need  not  think  that  Belle  is 
inconsolable  in  your  absence.  No  doubt,  when  you  re 
turn  you  will  find  her  as  blooming  as  ever !" 

"  I  hope  so,  indeed !"  replied  Arthur.  "  I  think  I  see 
her  blue  eyes  expanding  with  astonishment,  as  they 
surely  will,  when  I  shall  relate  the  good  fortune  that  has 
befallen  you.  I  am  truly  afraid  that  her  expressions  of 
wonder  and  delight  will  never  cease.  I  intend  to  sur 
prise  her  entirely,  and  have  not  written  a  word  to  her 
on  the  subject." 

"  Nor  have  I,"  returned  Aldeane.  "  I  have  been  so 
much  engaged  and  so  agitated,  that  I  have  not  been  able 
to.  I  will  write  to-night,  however,  and  constitute  you 
my  mail-carrier.  Of  course  you  will  all  remain  at  Grass- 
mere  until  you  leave  for  the  North." 

"  Certainly !  In  fact,  Mr.  Ashton  scarcely  likes  to 
return  North  at  all  without  Uncle  William.  By  the  by, 
has  he  told  you  his  secret  ?" 

"Who?  Mr.  Ashton?" 

"  Yes.  But  I  see  he  has  not.  Let  me  tell  you,  then,  he 
is  about  to  be  married." 

"  To  be  married  !     Is  it  possible  ?     Who  to  ?" 

"  The  mother  of  Gertie  and  Nettie  Remsen,  your  old 
schoolmates.  Nettie,  you  know,  is  married,  and  Gertie 
17 


386  ALDEANE. 

well  cared  for,  so  he  incurs  no  encumbrances  in  marrying 
the  widow." 

"  I  like  the  lady  very  much ;  but  what  does  Belle  say 
to  it  ?" 

"  She  is  very  much  pleased.  Indeed  I  even  accuse  her 
of  projecting  the  match.  Certain  it  is,  that  at  all  the 
little  dinner-parties  given  at  our  hoiise,  Mrs.  Remsen 
was  sure  to  be  invited  and  placed  near  Mr.  Ashton.  He 
will  not  leave  Rose  Cottage  and  come  to  live  with  us, 
and  I  suppose  he  thinks,  as  we  do,  that  he  will  be  much 
happier  with  a  good  wife  than  he  is  at  present  with  a 
cross  though  faithful  housekeeper.  Though  I  presume 
Mrs.  Roberts  will  still  be  retained  in  the  house,  for  she 
has  held  sway  there  during  the  many  years  of  his  long 
wido  werhood. " 

"  I  am  truly  glad  he  has  decided  to  marry,"  said  Al- 
deane.  "  I  urged  him  to,  before  I  left  the  North  the  last 
time.  He  laughingly  said  he  would  try  to  make  a  choice, 
and  it  seems  he  has  succeeded.  When  is  the  happy  event 
to  take  place  ?" 

"Immediately  after  our  return.  Mrs.  Remsen  is  re 
nowned  as  a  good  housekeeper,  and  when  you  come 
North,  he  will  no  doubt  welcome  you  in  a  more  elegant 
style  than  usual.  I  may  be  able  to  do  so  also,  as  my 
enemy  can  do  me  no  further  harm." 

"  I  hope,  indeed,  that  you  will  prosper  now,"  said  Al- 
deane.  "  What  a  vindictive  spirit  Davis  must  have  pos 
sessed  to  persecute  you  so,  for  the  mere  reason  that  he 
had  conceived  a  dislike  for  you." 

"  He  belie,  ved  that  I  knew  his  secret,"  returned  Arthur, 
"  in  which  supposition  he  was  perfectly  correct,  but  it  was 
harmless  in  my  hands.  Mother  never  told  me  the  name 
of  the  man  he  had  so  deeply  injured,  and,  beyond  her  sim 
ple  assertion,  I  had  no  proof  of  the  truth  of  her  words. 
But  there  is  an  end  and  a  punishment  for  all  wickedness. 
To  him  it  has  come,  and  Blake  is  still  insane.  The  phy- 


A  LDEAN E. 

sieians  say  there  is  but  little  hope  that  he  will  recover. 
His  sister  has  decided  to  send  him  to  the  asylum,  for 
although  he  has  never  yet  shown  symptoms  of  violence, 
she  is  in  constant  fear  that  he  will." 

"  He  has  always  looked  as  if  he  suffered  remorse,"  said 
"Aldeane,  "  and  I  do  not  now  wonder  at  it,  when  I  con 
sider  the  horrible  plot  in  which  he  took  such  an  active 
part." 

"  What  I  wonder  at  most,"  replied  Arthur,  "  is  his  im 
pertinence  in  ever  addressing  you,  or  indeed,  any  other 
lady.  I  am  in  hopes,  my  dear,"  he  continued,  "  that  you 
have  at  last  decided  to  settle  near  Boston.  I  know  that 
your  father  has,  but  that  has  little  to  do  with  you." 

The  crimson  blood  rushed  to  Aldeane's  face. 

"  Evans  is  a  good  man,  a  true  friend,  and  he  loves  you 
devotedly !"  continued  Arthur. 

Aldeane  rose  hastily,  the  color  had  all  receded  from 
her  face.  "  Don't  speak  of  it !"  she  said,  entreatingly. 
"That  can  never  be;  I  honor  and  esteem  him,  but  no 
more !" 

Arthur  felt  that  she  still  loved,  another,  and  although 
he  had  set  his  heart  upon  her  union  with  Charles  Evans, 
said  no  more  about  it,  but  adroitly  changed  the  subject. 

The  breath  of  evening  swept  through  the  branches  of 
the  trees,  and  moved  the  window-curtains,  refreshing  all 
things  by  its  coolness,  when  they  left  the  library.  Aldeane 
went  into  the  parlor,  where  she  found  Jessie  crying 
bitterly  because  her  mother  had  told  her  that  it  was 
nearly  time  for  her  to  return  home,  and  that  she  must 
leave  Aldeane. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  back  with  us,"  she  sobbed*;  "  it  will 
be  so  lonely  without  you,  with  no  one  but  papa  and  ma  to 
speak  to ;  for  you  know  Eddie  is  going  back  to  school 
with  Frank." 

Mrs.  Arendell  entered  the  room,  and  said, "  Come,  Jessie, 
dear,  tea  is  ready :  and  we  must  start  immediately  after  it. 


388  ALDEANE. 

We  shall  have  such  a  nice  ride  home  in  the  beautiful 
moonlight.  You  like  that  so  much  you  know.  Come,  don't 
cry,  Cousin  Allie  will  come  to  see  us  very  often,  no  doubt." 

"  Of  course  I  shall !"  said  Aldeane.  "  But,  aunt,  why 
can't  you  let  Jessie  stay  with  me?  You  will  be  busy 
preparing  the  boys  for  school,  and  will  not  need  her 
company  half  as  much  as  I  shall.  Besides,  you  will  not 
be  able  to  send  her  to  school  yet,  and  she  will  lose  so 
much  if  you  allow  her  to  stay  at  home  doing  nothing,  if 
she  is  here  I  can  still  superintend  her  studies." 

"You  are  still  as  kind  and  thoughtful  as  ever,"  re 
turned  Mrs.  Arendell ;  while,  springing  up,  Jessie  threw 
her  arms  around  her  mother's  neck,  exclaiming : — 

"  Oh,  may  I  stay  ?  Please,  let  me  stay  !  I  won't  be  a 
bit  of  trouble,  and  will  study  ever  so  hard !" 

"  But,  Aldeane,  she  will  be  homesick,  and  be  so  much 
trouble  to  you." 

"  Indeed,  mamma,  I  will  not." 

"  I  do  not  fear  that  she  will  trouble  me  in  the  least," 
said  Aldeane,  smiling.  "  I  promise  to  send  her  home  as 
soon  as  she  manifests  any  symptoms  of  it.  And  now, 
aunt,  grant  me  one  favor.  Send  up  Jessie's  trunk,  and 
let  her  stay  with  me." 

"  Please,  mother,  do." 

"  I  can  not  withstand  you  both.  You  know  my  weak 
ness  !"  returned  Mrs.  Arendell,  laughing,  kissing  first  the 
blooming  face  of  her  daughter,  and  then  the  no  less 
happy  one  of  Aldeane. 

Jessie's  tears  all  vanished,  and  smiles  usurped  their 
place.  Yet  when,  an  hour  afterward,  she  saw  her  father, 
mother,  aftd  brothers,  depart,  she  felt  almost  like  joining 
them.  But  Arthur  challenged  her  to  a  race  over  the 
lawn,  and  she  was  soon  leading  him,  at  his  quickest  pace 
around  the  shrubbery,  through  which  she  nimbly  ran, 
unheeding  her  pursuer's  darts  and  turns  to  capture  her, 
as  she  well  knew  he  had  but  a  slight  chance  of  doing  it. 


ALDEANE.  339 

Mr.  Arendell  and  Mr.  Ashton,  through  wreaths  of 
cigar  smoke,  watched  the  race  from  the  front  piazza. 
Aldeane  turned  toward  them  saying  : — 

"  That  reminds  me  of  the  first  day  I  ever  spent  at 
Rose  Cottage,  when  Arthur,  Belle,  and  I,  ran  across  the 
meadow  and  came  upon  a  snake.  Oh  !  how  Mrs.  Roberts 
scolded  us  for  bringing  it  home !  And  that  was  not  the 
last  scolding  we  received  from*  her,  either." 

"  Doubtless  you  deserved  them  all !"  returned  Mr. 
Ashton  gayly.  "  I  don't  know  what  would  have  become 
of  you,  if  you  had  not  had  her  to  correct  you  in  my  ab 
sence.  She  is  even  now  invaluable." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,  but" — and  Aldeane  looked  at  him 
archly — "  I  hear  that  you  are  going  to  place  another  lady 
at  the  head  of  your  household." 

Mr.  Ashton  laughed,  to  cover  his  momentary  em 
barrassment.  "  I  am  sure  Arthur  has  mistaken  his  vo 
cation,"  he  said  at  last.  "  He  would  make  an  excellent 
town-crier.  He  would  tell  every  one  every  thing  with 
out  being  paid  for  it.  Allie,  I  tried  to  get  you  for  a  long 
time,  but  at  last  gave  it  up  in  despair  ?  Of  course  you 
know  who  the  lady  is  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  1  sincerely  congratulate  you  on  your  excel 
lent  choice." 

"  If  I  could  only  get  Charley  to  take  Gertie,"  said  Mr. 
Ashton,  laughing,  and  glancing  at  Mr.  Evans,  "  I  should 
be  perfectly  happy.  I  am  certain  in  my  own  mind  that 
she  likes  him,  and  she  would  make  him  an  excellent 
wife." 

Mr.  Evans  made  no  reply,  but  taking  the  cigar  from 
his  mouth,  blew  away  the  smoke,  and  leaning  his  arm  on 
the  balustrade,  looked  earnestly  at  Aldeane,  as  if  waiting 
for  her  to  speak. 

She  caught  his  glance  fixed  so  eagerly  upon  her.  For 
a  moment  she  hesitated,  and  then  said,  steadily :  "  I  think 
as  you  do,  Mr.  Ashton.  Mr.  Evans  would  insure  his 


390  ALDEANE. 

happiness  by  marrying  Gertie,  provided  she  loves  him. 
I  should  be  delighted  to  hear  of  the  event  having  taken 
place." 

"  It  may  before  any  of  you  suspect,"  said  Mr.  Evans, 
rising,  tossing  his  cigar  among  the  bushes  and  hastily 
passing  out  to  the  lawn.  "  You  have  sealed  my  destiny 
forever,  now !"  he  whispered  to  Aldeane,  as  he  passed 
her. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,"  said  Mr.  Ashton,  "  I  was  in  hopes 
that  you  and  Evans  would  fancy  each  other ;  but  I  always 
was  a  poor  match-maker,  and  I  suppose  all  my  best-laid 
plans  must  fail.  Oh,  the  perversity  of  human  nature, 
especially  when  there's  a  woman  in  the  case  !" 

"  Allie,  my  child !"  said  Mr.  Arendell,  "  now  that  I 
have  found  you,  every  one  seems  anxious  to  separate  us 
again." 

"  But  I  shall  not  leave  you,  father !"  she  replied,  laying 
her  hand  in  his. 

Mr.  Ashton  laughed.  "  I'll  wager  you  a  set  of  silver 
spoons  that  you  are  off  in  less  than  twelve  months." 

"  I  take  up  the  wager !"  cried  Aldeane,  gayly. 

"And  if  you  lose,  what  then?"  asked  her  opponent. 

"  I  will  help  your  wife  to  correct  you,"  returned  Al 
deane,  "  you  need  discipline  now,  very  badly." 

"  That  is  true,  Aldeane,"  said  Arthur,  coming  toward 
them  with  Jessie  screaming  and  struggling  in  his  arms, 
yet  carrying  her  as  easily  as  if  she  had  been  an  infant, 
and,  as  he  told  her,  "  still  as  a  mouse." 

"Uncle  William  make  Mr.  Guthrie  put  me  down! 
Please  take  me  away  from  him !"  cried  Jessie. 

"  Arthur,  I'm  ashamed  of  you !  you're  a  pretty  fellow 
to  detain  a  lady  against  her  will !"  replied  Mr.  Arendell, 
lifting  her  from  her  high  perch.  "  Where  did  he  catch 
you,  Jessie?" 

"  Out  by  that  old  trumpet-vine  arbor  you  all  pretend 
to  like  so  much,  while  I  think  it  is  the  dreariest  place  on 


ALDEANE.  391 

the  whole  plantation !  I  was  going  by  there  and  s;i\\r 
Mr.  Evans  standing  in  it ;  I  was  frightened,  and  stopped 
for  a  moment,  and  Mr.  Guthrie  came  up  and  caught  me. 
I  told  him  it  wasn't  fair,  when  he  did  it.  Oh !  dear,  I  am 
so  tired  !"  and  she  sat  down  upon  the  steps,  wearily. 

Aldeane  called  to  a  servant  to  bring  some  water,  and 
giving  a  glass  to  Jessie,  said :  "  Come,  little  one,  it  is  time 
for  you  to  be  in  bed ;  I  am  tired  myself,  and  know  that 
you  must  be." 

"  Why,  Aldeane,  you  are  not  going  to  retire  so  early  !" 
exclaimed  Arthur.  "  It  is  not  yet  quite  ten  o'clock." 

"  Nevertheless,  you  gentlemen  must  permit  me  to  go. 
I  know  Jessie  would  be ,  frightened  alone  in  that  still 
chamber." 

"  Let  Amelia  stay  with  her." 

Aldeane  shook  her  head.  "  That  is  against  my  creed, 
Arthur.  I  want  Jessie  to  dismiss  her  waiting-maid  at 
night,  they  need  better  rest  than  a  pallet  on  the  floor 
affords." 

"  A  Yankee,  every  inch !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Arendell, 
laughing. 

"  No,  the  daughter  of  a  true  Southerner !"  she  returned. 
"  Come,  Jessie,  I  believe  you  are  almost  asleep  now." 

She  very  willingly  said  "  good-night !"  and  followed 
Aldeane  up-stairs,  and  although  she  shrank  back  at  sight 
of  the  high,  old-fashioned  bed,  she  was  soon  sleeping  as 
calmly  on  it  as  if  in  her  own  little  cot  at  home. 

Aldeane  drew  forth  the  little  chair  from  the  window 
recess  and  placing  her  desk  upon  a  low  table,  seated  her 
self  before  it  and  began  to  write.  A  long  letter  to  Belle, 
such  as  she  used  to  write  when  she  first  came  South, 
but  for  which,  since  trouble  and  care  had  come,  she  had 
had  neither  time  nor  inclination,  was  the  result.  When 
she  had  completed  it,  she  went  to  the  window  to  catch  a 
breath  of  the  cool  air  of  midnight.  She  saw  the  dim 
outlines  of  the  figures  of  two  gentlemen  upon  the  piazza, 


392  ALDEANE. 

and  the  crimson  tops  of  their  cigars,  and  heard  the  faint 
hum  of  voices. 

"  Tobacco — how  potent  is  thine  influence !  how  power 
ful  over  the  minds  of  men  !"  she  murmured,  smiling 
quietly.  "  Ah,  they  are  talking  of  me  !"  She  bent  for 
ward  and  discovered  that  Mr.  Ashton  and  her  father 
were  alone. 

"  I  am  cei'tain  he  loved  her !"  said  the  former. 

"  And  do  you  think  that  he  does,  still  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Arendell. 

"  Most  assuredly !  Beauty  and  wealth  seek  to  dazzle 
him  in  vain  !  He  still  loves,  and  is  waiting  for  Aldeane !" 

Aldeane  closed  the  blinds,  and  sank  upon  a  chair,  not 
waiting,  or  even  wishing,  to  hear  more. 

"  Loving,  and  waiting  !  loving,  and  waiting,  as  I  have 
been  for  years !"  she  murmured.  "  Thank  God !  he  is 
loving  and  waiting — faithful  still !" 

She  heard  the  two  chairs  on  the  piazza  pushed  back 
hastily,  and  the  door  closed  loudly  as  the  gentlemen 
entered  the  house.  Mr.  Ashton  went  into  the  room 
allotted  to  him,  and  her  father  to  the  library,  where  she 
heard  him  for  some  time  pacing  the  floor  heavily.  She 
listened,  hoping  to  hear  him  cease,  but  at  last  half-terri 
fied  by  the  strange  thoughts  that  crowded  her  mind,  she 
gathered  her  white  dressing  robe  around  her,  and  ran 
lightly  down  the  stairs,  and  opened  the  library  door. 
Her  father  turned  quickly  as  she  entered. 

"  Child !  what  is  the  matter  ?"  he  exclaimed,  "  how 
wild  and  specter-like  you  look.  Are  you  frightened  at 
being  alone  in  this  old  house?"  He  folded  her  in  his 
arms,  kissing  her  tenderly. 

"  No,  no  !"  she  replied,  "  but  it  made  me  feel  so  sad  to 
hear  you  keeping  your  lone  vigil,  here  in  the  darkness  ! 
Will  you  not  try  to  rest  ?  I  know  you  are  weary  !" 

"  Child,  I  am  strong  to-night,"  he  answered  dreamily. 
"  For  years  I  have  been  weary  of  life ;  now  I  can  look 


ALDEANE.  393 

forward  to  enjoying  the  remnant  of  my  days.  Your 
mother  has  been  with  me  to-night.  I  see  her  every  where. 
She  haunts  Grassmere !" 

Aldeane  glanced  around  a  little  fearfully,  clinging  still 
closer  to  her  father. 

"  Not  in  bodily  form,  does  she  come,  Aldeane.  She  is 
here,  here  in  my  heart !  Ah !  my  wife  !  my  angel  wife  !" 

"  Strive  to  be  happy  without  her !"  murmured  Aldeane. 
"Remember  that  I — her  daughter,  and  yours — am  with 
you." 

"  I  do  remember  it,  and  the  knowledge  fills  my  heart 
with  joy,  but  can  ever  a  daughter's  love  fill  the  place  of 
such  innocence  and  beauty  as  this  ?" 

He  drew  her  beneath  the  lamp  suspended  from  the 
center  of  the  room,  took  from  his  bosom  a  small  minia 
ture,  attached  to  a  hair  chain,  and  gazing  at  it  a  moment 
almost  reverently,  placed  it  in  his  daughter's  hand. 

By  the  pale  light  of  the  single  lamp,  Aldeane  beheld 
the  portrait  of  her  mother.  A  face  beaming  with  every 
tint  of  health  and  beauty,  and  with  a  rarely  sweet 
expression,  looked  forth  from  a  mass  of  golden  curls,  the 
truthful  blue  eyes  seemed  to  look  steadily  and  lovingly 
into  those  bending  over  her. 

"  Beautiful !  mother !"  sobbed  Aldeane,  and  with  a 
gush  of  tears  she  laid  her  head  upon  her  father's  bosom 
murmuring  :  "  I  can  .comprehend  your  loss  now.  But, 
remember  that  she  is  with  the  angels  watching  our 
career  with  anxious  gaze.  Let  us  strive  to  join  her." 

Mr.  Arendell  kissed  her  tenderly.  "  Go,  now,  my 
daughter,"  he  said.  "  I  feel  better  for  having  spoken  of 
her.  I  can  sleep  now,  and  you  must  also,  your  eyelids 
are  drooping  sadly." 

Aldeane  kissed  him  again,  and  with  his  silent,  but  fer 
vent  blessing  resting  upon  her,  went  up-stairs  as  noise 
lessly  as  she  had  descended. 

Total  silence  soon  after  brooded  over  Grassmere. 
17* 


394:  ALDEANE. 

Late  on  Sunday  afternoon,  Mr.  Ashton,  Mr.  Evans,  and 
Arthur,  left  Grassmere  to  go  to  Arendell  House,  in  order 
to  take  the  stage  at  Loring  early  the  following  day. 

"  Poor  Arthur  !"  said  Mr.  Ashton,  laughing,  as  they 
stepped  into  the  carriage.  "  He  hasn't  seen  his  wife  for 
ages.  Dreadful !  isn't  it  ?  I  wish  I  could  hire  a  pair  of 
wings  for  him  somewhere.  I  would  invite  you  both  to 
my  wedding,  but  I  know  you  won't  come.  But  I  give 
you  a  standing  and  staying  invitation,  to  visit  us  when 
you  come  North.  Don't  let  it  be  long  before  you  come, 
either !" 

Mr.  Evans  bowed  low  over  Aldeane's  hand  at  parting, 
looked  at  her  sorrowfully  a  moment,  then  stepped  into 
the  carriage,  and  it  was  driven  rapidly  away.  She  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  white  handkerchief  fluttering  from  the 
window,  answered  it  by  a  wave  of  her  hand,  and  the 
next  moment  the  party  were  out  of  sight. 

During  the  fall  and  winter,  the  time  passed  rapidly  and 
pleasantly  at  Grassmere.  Aldeane  was  fully  employed 
in  her  housekeeping  duties,  and  in  teaching  Jessie,  who 
remained  with  her.  She  went  home  several  times,  and 
stayed  a  few  days,  but  was  always  glad  to  return  to  her 
studies,  and  Aldeane's  pleasant  society. 

Aldeane  had  once  gone  with  her  father  to  the  cemetery 
at  Linden,  a  village  some  few  miles  distant,  where  a 
marble  shaft  arising  from  the  midst  of  profuse  shrub 
bery  distinguished  her  mother's  grave  from  the  numbers 
around  it.  She  fulfilled  the  sad,  yet  pleasing  duty  of 
planting  flowers  xipon  the  grass-covered  mound,  and 
returned  home,  saddened  by  her  visit,  yet  happy  in  the 
thought  that  her  uncle  had  not  suffered  her  mother  to 
rest  in  an  unmarked  grave. 

As  soon  as  it  was  known  that  Aldeane  was  the  daugh 
ter  of  William  Arendell,  she  was  invited  most  urgently 
into  society,  being  mostly  courted  by  those  who  had 
slighted  her  when  she  was  simply  a  governess.  She 


ALDEANE.  395 

accepted  the  invitations  of  those  only  who  had  always 
been  her  friends,  and  thus  passed  an  almost  secluded  life 
within  the  precincts  of  Grassmere.  Letters  from  the 
North  bore  the  glad  tidings  of  Arthur's  prosperity.  Mr. 
Ashton  was  married,  and  it  was  rumored  that  Mr.  Evans 
and  Gertrude  Remsen  were  about  to  be.  Aldeane  re 
joiced  at  this,  and  hoped  that  they  would  be  united 
before  she  went  North,  for  which  the  appointed  time  was 
rapidly  approaching.  The  beautiful  spring  days  had 
come.  All  the  negroes  that  chose  to  leave  had  been  sent 
to  good  homes  prepared  for  them.  Colonel  Arendell  had 
taken  formal  possession  of  Grassmere,  and  nothing  re 
mained  for  Aldeane  to  do  but  to  bid  it  farewell  and  go  to 
Arendell  House,  where  she  was  to  remain  for  a  few  days 
previous  to  her  departure  for  the  North. 

This,  to  her,  was  no  very  grievous  task,  but  her  father 
felt  it  bitterly.  Each  nook  and  corner  of  the  old  place 
was  dear  to  him.  Some  weeks  before  he  left  he  tenderly 
transplanted  a  root  of  the  trumpet-vine,  intending,  if  pos 
sible,  to  cultivate  it  at  the  North.  He  took  it  from  what 
was,  to  him,  hallowed  ground,  and  cherished  it  as  his 
dearest  treasure.  Aldeane  carefully  packed  many  of  the 
drawings  that  her  mother  had  executed,  looking  upon 
them  as  dear  relics  of  the  past. 

Frank  and  Eddie  had  returned  home  for  the  spring  va 
cation,  and  on  the  last  evening  of  Aldeane's  stay  they 
went  with  her  to  Loring  to  visit  Leonore's  grave.  A  few 
early  flowers  were  lifting  their  tiny  heads  above  it.  Al 
deane  gathered  a  few,  and,  with  periwinkle  and  cypress, 
wove  a  chaplct,  which  she  hung  upon  the  monument  as 
a  last  token  of  her  unceasing  grief  and  love. 

She  looked  with  new  interest  upon  Raymond's  grave. 
Her  father,  she  knew,  had  been  there,  for  on  the  side  of 
the  tablet  was  written  in  pencil  in  his  hand,  "  Out  of  the 
depths  hast  Thou  called  his  spirit." 

She  left  the  quiet  grave-yard,  feeling  that  it  was,  per- 


396  ALDEANE. 

haps,  the  last  time  she  should  ever  tread  within  its  hal 
lowed  precincts.  She  had  lingered  so  long  that  the  gray 
light  of  evening  was  brooding  over  the  earth,  half  hiding 
every  object  in  its  misty  folds,  ere  she  reached  Arendell 
House.  Mrs.  Arendell  met  her  at  the  garden  gate,  and 
hurried  her  into  the  house  to  dress  for  the  company  that 
was  to  meet  her  for  the  last  time. 

A  farewell  party  always  possesses  some  elements  of 
gloom.  Sighs  unbidden  will  often  mingle  with  the  gay 
est  strains  of  music  or  laughter,  and  check  the  gay  repar 
tee.  So  was  it  at  this  time.  Mrs.  Arendell  had  been 
very  careful  in  the  selection  of  her  guests.  None  but 
those  who  had  always  treated  Aldeane  with  kindness 
were  invited,  and  with  many  she  felt  truly  sorry  to  part. 
It  was  the  first  time  that  the  parlor  had  been  filled  with 
company  since  Leonore's  death,  and  all  seemed  to  remem 
ber  it,  for  the  voices  were  subdued,  and  many  mentioned 
her.  At  an  early  hour  the  guests  took  their  departure, 
leaving  the  family  to  the  quiet  enjoyment  of  the  last 
hours  of  the  night.  One  o'clock  had  just  struck  when 
Aldeane  retired,  not  to  sleep,  but  to  weep  bitterly  at  the 
thought  that  she  was  about  to  leave,  perhaps  forever,  a 
home  that  she  loved  so  dearly  from  the  very  sorrows  con 
nected  with  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

AND  the  week  later  she  was  the  mistress  of  a  second 
Grassmere,  which  was  situated  midway  between  Rose 
Cottage  and  Boston,  and  was,  as  far  as  moderate  wealth 
and  rare  tastes  could  make  it,  a  model  of  elegance.  Mr. 
Arendell's  sole  care  was  to  place  his  daughter  in  a  home 
worthy  of  her,  though  he  contended  that  such  a  one 
could  never  be  gained,  and  laughingly  feared  that  how 
ever  charming  might  be  the  nest  he  should  make  for  her, 
she  would  flit  to  another. 

To  this  Aldeane  made  no  reply.  How  could  she,  when 
she  remembered  with  what  unacknowledged  hopes  she  had 
hastened  North  ?  when  she  remembered  one  welcome  she 
had  expected  and  received  not — still  received  not,  though 
long  weeks  had  passed  by  and  she  had  grown  heartsick 
with  "  hope  deferred  ?"  She  could  not,  strive  as  she 
would,  forget  that  Frederic  Morgan  was  free  to  seek  her, 
that  he  had  once  told  her  that  he  loved  her.  And  now, 
now  he  came  not,  nor  sent  one  word  of  welcome  or  con 
gratulation.  His  mother,  indeed,  had  come,  but  her  visit 
had  only  deepened  Aldeane's  disappointment — a  disap 
pointment  which  she  blushed  to  own,  yet  over  which  she 
shed  many  bitter  tears. 

The  season  was  very  gay,  and  introduced  by  Mrs.  Ash- 
ton,  she  went  everywhere,  and  more,  perhaps,  from  the 
romantic  story  attached  to  her  than  from  her  beauty,  she 
became  an  acknowledged  belle,  and  the  life  and  pride  of 
her  circle.  She  everywhere  heard  of  Doctor  Morgan,  for 


398  ALDEANE. 

he  had  gained  a  local  reputation  in  his  profession.  But 
it  had  seemed  fated  that  they  should  not  meet,  for  many 
times  she  had  entered  Belle's  house  a  few  moments  after 
he  had  left  it,  and  more  than  once  he  had  dropped  in  for 
an  instant  at  an  evening  party  just  before  her  entrance 
or  after  her  departure. 

Undoubtedly  she  was  piqued  as  well  as  grieved  by  his 
strange  conduct  toward  her,  but  the  former  was  the  only 
feeling  she  allowed  to  escape  her,  even  to  Belle,  who  now, 
in  all  the  dignity  of  maternity  added  to  wifehood,  and 
with  the  prudence  of  an  elderly  match-maker,  catechised 
Aldeane  upon  the  advantages  or  disadvantages  to  be 
gained  by  the  encouragement  of  her  numerous  admirers, 
and  shrewdly  feigned  to  ignore  the  knowledge  upon 
which,  to  Arthur,  she  had  long  plumed  herself,  and  upon 
which  was  still  founded  the  dearest  wish  of  her  heart; 
for,  as  she  truly  said,  she  had  now  no  cares  of  Arthur's 
to  perplex  her,  as  his  success  in  his  profession  since  the 
exposure  and  death  of  his  old  enemy,  had  been  unparal 
leled,  and  now  bade  fair  to  make  him  in  time  a  wealthy 
man,  even  though  he  should  discard  any  other  fortune 
that  might  fall  to  him,  as  he  had  done  that  of  his  unwor 
thy  step-father,  which  he  had  suffered  to.  enrich  a  score 
of  poor  relations  who  had  discarded  Jonas  Davis  years 
before,  but  who,  at  the  cry  of  gold,  sprang  into  being  to 
own  themselves  his  nearest,  dearest  kin. 

And  so,  Arthur  being  "  off  her  mind,"  Belle  must  needs 
"  take  Aldeane  on,"  and  Frederic  Morgan  too,  of  whom 
she  saw  much,  and  could  satisfy  herself  but  little.  She 
talked  to  him  in  the  severest  manner  of  his  neglect  of 
his  old  friend,  but  could  gain  nothing  from  him  but 
that  his  time  was  much  occupied,  that  he  had  no  time  for 
formal  calls,  and  other  excuses  of  a  like  nature,  always 
ending  with  the  declaration,  that  he  should  call  soon, 
very  soon. 

And  so  Belle,  who  conjectured  every  thing,  and  said 


ALDEANE  399 

even  more  than  prudence  dictated,  effected  nothing,  while 
in  course  of  time  one  who  conjectured  comparatively 
little,  chanccd,to  say  the  very  words  which  she  had  been 
seeking  in  vain. 

The  winter  had  unmistakably  begun  his  reign,  although 
it  was  yet  early  in  November,  when  one  day  Mr.  Ashton 
and  his  wife  sat  in  their  comfortable  sleigh  being  rapidly 
driven  toward  Grassmere,  there  to  celebrate  the  birthday 
of  Mr.  Arendell. 

"  My  dear,"  remarked  Mrs.  Ashton,  in  a  pause  made  by 
her  husband  in  an  earnest  eulogy  of  his  friend,  "have 
you  noticed  how  pale  and  restless,  if  not  absolutely  ill, 
Aldeane  has  appeared  lately.  I  really  fear  she  has  some 
secret  trouble  preying  upon  her  mind." 

"  Nonsense,"  returned  Mr.  Ashton.  "  I  am  sure  she 
looked  the  very  pink  of  health  and  beauty  the  last  time 
I  saw  her.  I  think  Gertie's  woes  before  Charley  owned 
himself  a  captive,  have  made  you  a  little  sentimental." 
And  Mr.  Ashton  laughing  heartily,  dismissed  the  subject, 
and  the  next  moment,  exclaimed : — 

"  Why  there's  Morgan  upon  his  splendid  bay.  That 
fellow  lives  on  horseback,  I  believe.  Hullo,  doctor,  where 
are  you  going,  now  ?" 

The  young  doctor  drew  rein,  and  saluted  Mrs.  Ashton 
and  his  old  friend,  coloring  somewhat,  as  the  latter 
exclaimed : — "  And  you  don't  look  well  either  !  What  is 
the  matter  with  you  fn 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing,"  he  muttered,  confusedly.  "  I 
have  been  working  a  little  harder  than  usual,  lately,  I 
believe." 

"  Then,  I  should  advise  you  to  take  a  little  rest,"  said 
Mr.  Ashton,  gayly ;  "  we  will  not  allow  you  to  be  a  slave, 
or  a  recluse  any  longer.  Of  course,  Belle  has  told  you, 
that  you  will  be  expected  at  the  wedding.  Charley  has 
always  declared  he  wouldn't  be  mariied  without  you 
were  at  hand." 


400  ALDEANE. 

"  I — I  did  not  understand — Mrs.  Guthrie  has  told  me 
nothing,"  faltered  Doctor  Morgan,  turning  very  pale. 
"  Char — Charley  will  certainly  excuse  me — I — I." 

"Well,  if  Charley  will,  Gertie  certainly  will  not," 
interrupted  Mr.  Ashton. 

"  Gertie !"  gasped  Dr.  Morgan,  as  if  in  the  greatest 
surprise,  and  actually  springing  from  his  horse  to  grasp 
Mr.  Ashton's  hand,  and  sinking  into  the  deep  snow  with 
out  appearing  to  mind  it  in  the  least.  "  Is  it  Gertie 
Remsen  that  is  to  be  married  to  Charley  Evans  ?" 

"  I  hope,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Ashton,  with  much  stateliness, 
"  that  you  were  not  misled  by  an  absurd  rurnor  that  was 
for  a  little  time  afloat.  My  dear,  Mr.  Ashton,  what  are 
you  laughing  at  ?  I  assure  you  I  consider  this  very 
annoying,  indeed." 

But  Mr.  Ashton,  who  had  thrown  himself  back  in  his 
sleigh  in  a  paroxysm  of  laughter,  laughed  louder  than 
before,  and  with  infinitely  more  enjoyment  as  he  saw 
Doctor  Morgan,  without  a  word  more,  vault  into  his 
saddle,  and  ride  at  the  greatest  speed  of  the  splendid 
bay,  in  the  direction  of  Grassmere. 

Of  all  the  days  that  Aldeane  had  passed  there,  she  was 
expecting  him  least  upon  this,  for  her  mind  was  occupied 
by  the  responsibility  of  properly  receiving  and  enter 
taining  a  large  party  which  were  to  meet  at  dinner  a 
few  hours  later. 

Arthur,  Belle,  and  (according  to  the  declarations  of 
both,  and  the  belief  of  Aldeane)  the  most  wonderful 
baby  that  ever  was  born,  were  already  there,  Arthur, 
with  Mr.  Arendell  in  the  library,  and  Belle  in  an  up 
per  room  where  Aldeane  had  left  her,  in  order  to  give 
one  glance  at  the  drawing-rooms  before  the  company 
should  arrive,  when  a  ring  at  the  bell  startled  her,  and  a 
minute  later  the  sound  of  her  own  name  uttered  in  a 
voice  she  well  remembered,  caused  her  to  sink  upon  a 
chair,  pale  and  breathless,  as  the  drawing-room  door  was 


ALDEANE.  •    401 

thrown   open,  and   Frederic  Morgan   hastily  advanced 
toward  her. 

She  endeavored  to  rise  and  greet  him  calmly,  but  if  all 
her  future  happiness  had  depended  upon  it,  she  could  not 
have  done  so.  Fortunately  the  lack  of  ceremony  served 
only  to  her  advantage,  for  Frederic  Morgan  saw  at  once 
that  there  was  no  need  of  words,  save  those  in  which  he 
explained  his  late  conduct.  "  I  heard  you  were  Engaged 
to  Evans,  and  dared  not  come  !"  and  with  an  outburst 
of  triumphant  love  and  joy,  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 

How  very  soon  afterward  the  company  began  to 
arrive.  First,  there  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ashton,  full  of 
significance  and  mystery,  and  pretending,  like  Belle  and 
Arthur,  to  have  no  idea  of  what  had  occurred,  and  kindly 
combining  to  keep  any  thought  of  it  from  Mr.  Arendell 
until  all  could  be  fully  explained ;  also  Charles  Evans  and 
his  very  lovely  fiancde,  neither  of  whom  appeared  to 
attach  any  particular  importance  to  the  conjectures 
whispered  by  Mrs.  Ashton ;  and  besides  these,  a  host  of 
acquaintances ;  more  than  one  of  whom  noticed  the 
agitation  neither  could  entirely  conceal,  and  opined  that 
Doctor  Morgan  and  Miss  Arendell  would  make  a  "  mag 
nificent  couple." 

And  a  few  months  after,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles 
Evans  were  spoken  of  as  the  happiest  of  married  folks, 
Doctor  Morgan  and  Miss  Arendell  did  indeed  make  the 
"  magnificent  couple"  that  had  been  prophesied  of.  There 
was  a  quiet  wedding,  with  but  few  to  witness  it.  But 
those  few  were  the  dearest  and  best :  Colonel  and  Mrs. 
Arendell,  with  their  family ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Guthrie,  good 
Mr.  Ashton  and  his  wife,  with  Charles  Evans  and  his. 
young  bride,  with  a  few  others  whose  friendship  had 
brightened  Aldeane's  life  when  she  was  a  poor  governess, 
as  gladly  as  when  she  was  the  heiress  of  William 
Arendell,  and  the  bride  of  that  most  popular  of  physi 
cians,  Frederic  Morgan. 


402  ALDEANE. 

"  My  love,"  he  said,  as  they  sat  together,  in  the  drawing- 
room,  upon  the  night  he  took  her  to  her  home ;  "  my  love, 
this  reminds  me  of  the  conversation  I  held  with  Annie 
upon  this  very  spot,  so  long  ago ;  and  I  think,  my  darling, 
it  is  here  she  would  like  you  to  read  a  little  note  she  left 
for  me  to  give  the  woman  of  my  love  if  she  should  ever 
be  my  wife.  I  know,  my  own,  you  have  in  your  heart 
naught  but  kindness  for  her  memory,  and  will  gently 
judge  what  she  has  written  here." 

He  placed  a  tiny  note  in  her  hand,  and  would  have  left 
her,  but  she  clasped  his  hand  and  bade  him  stay,  and 
with  his  arm  around  her,  she  read  the  message  of  his  first 
wife.  The  very  paper  it  was  written  on — so  tiny  and 
delicately  tinted — was  characteristic  of  Annie  Greyson 
no  less  than  the  few  quaintly  written  words. 

"  My  dear,"  it  began,  "  I  do  not  know  your  name,  but 
I  mean  this  for  the  lady  Frederic  loves,  and  whom  I  am' 
sure  he  will  marry  when  I  am  gone.  I  feel  now  as  if  I 
had  done  wrong  ever  to  separate  you,  but  I  didn't  like  to 
be  laughed  at,  and  I  was  sure  Fred  would  make  me 
happy,  and  I  was  over  twenty,  and  didn't  like  the  idea  of 
remaining  single  all  my  life.  I'm  sure  you  will  forgive 
me.  Won't  you  ?  And  I  do  hope  that  both  you  and  Fred 
will  think  kindly  of  her  who,  when  you  read  this,  will  be 
poor,  dead  ANNIE." 

Aldeane  sobbed  heartily  over  this  quaint  little  note, 
and  Frederic  Morgan,  while  he  endeavored  to  soothe  her, 
thought  with  tender  pity  of  her  whom  he  had  once  almost 
hated,  and  Aldeane,  knowing  this,  was  glad  he  had  not 
seen  the  postscript  which  was  written  on  another  page, 
and  afterward  met  her  eye,  and  which  in  spite  of  her  will 
recalled  to  her  mind  the  olden  feeling  of  pitying  con 
tempt.  "  My  dear,"  this  said,  "  if  you  are  fair,  have  the 
drawing-room  curtains  changed  by  all  means.  I  found  that 
heavy  green  very  trying,  and  should  recommend  light 
blue." 


ALDEANE.  403 

Aldeane  lives  at  Morganvale  still — a  happy  wife  and 
mother,  beautiful  even  now  in  the  eyes  of  her  fond  hus 
band,  and  father,  and  those  of  a  score  of  loving  friends, 
even  though  she  receives  them  beneath  the  shadow  of  the 
green  curtains.  And  still  the  Peacemaker,  she  is  beloved 
by  rich  and  poor  throughout  the  neighborhood  which 
deems  itself  blessed  by  the  kindness  and  skill  of  the  good 
doctor. 


THE    END. 


JUST    PUBLISHED. 


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CONFUCIUS  AND  THE  CHINESE  CLASSICS; 

on, 

READINGS  IN  CHINESE  LITERATURE. 


OO2NTT  A-IKTHSTO-  = 

Chinese  History  do*wn  to  the  Christian  Era. 
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